Lost
by Cat7
Summary: Chapter 16 Frank's decision completes this part of his story.
1. Ch 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters – they were created by John Fusco, and are owned by others far more illustrious than myself. But I am hoping to be allowed to play with them for a little while, as a tribute to their makers. I will certainly return them if asked.  
  
The smoke from his fire blew horizontally away into the shadowy land, flowing with a strong wind. It was too cold to be out. He should be in the warm somewhere. But in three weeks, he hadn't been into any settlement for more than an hour or so, just enough time to pick up a few supplies, before he headed out into the wilds again.  
  
He took another pull at the bottle. Already half-empty, its promise of warmth or forgetfulness was dying in the whirling darkness. He settled back against his saddle and tried to sleep, but the full moon shone, and the grey smoke swirled, and all around him his people died, shouting, screaming then silent, already cooling in the snow. It had been bright, sunny, before the snow. Then the world had become dark.  
  
Hidalgo had heard before he had. His little brother had turned, and bucked, and refused to go on. Then they had run, Hidalgo digging in, driving forward urgently. By the time they got back to the camp, it was already too late.  
  
Maybe some coffee. Or some more fuel on the too-small fire. Or maybe he could just let himself freeze there, out in the grasslands, with the wind flooding through him, chilling him. Perhaps that was the answer. It went against all his instinct for survival, the tough, unrelenting hardiness he had been born to, that was second nature to him. But it was an answer, of sorts. He threw off the blanket and stood, resisting the temptations which haunted him, temptations to drink himself stupid, to weep, to wish for death.  
  
Hidalgo nickered softly. He was ground tied, willingly staying put, waiting out the night and the cold and a full moon. But he was unhappy, and jinked away from the swirling wind, turning his back into it then grumbling quietly to himself. Frank went over to him.  
  
"Cold, huh? Gonna be colder, too, 'fore mornin'."  
  
Hidalgo nuzzled his hand, hinting for a treat. None was forthcoming, and he tossed his head and shifted again as the wind veered.  
  
"Maybe we should go back to that last place, called itself a town. Be warm, at least. I'm gettin' too old to be out here."  
  
Yet it was beautiful out in the rolling grasslands, in their cold immensity. And he was free here, free of the constraints of civilization, which would drive him away if it knew his true heritage. Half breed. Blue eyed redskin. He could go on keeping that quiet but it was doing something to him, inside.  
  
He sighed, kicked out the fire, poured the coffee over the last cinders then waited for a minute or two to see it didn't catch again. When he was satisfied it was out, he threw the blanket over Hidalgo's back, smoothed it carefully, saddled his mustang and tied on his bedroll and saddlebags. He was glad they were a short way from the road and that the moon was full. He could see the tiny lights of the settlement not half a mile from where he had camped. Maybe something in him had wanted to go back there all along.  
  
He would go to find Buffalo Bill. Maybe there, in the show, he'd find the noise that would drive away his nightmares. He could kick the whiskey, ride around, proud and dignified, showing off Hidalgo, listening to the crowds.  
  
Yeah. That's what he would do. He mounted and eased Hidalgo into a trot, beginning to imagine the shouts of the good citizens as he showed them what his little paint could do. It would be all right. No more of this foolishness.  
  
He would be fine.  
  
TBC? 


	2. Ch 2

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am only writing about them for fun and I am making no money from this enterprise.  
  
The main street had looked, for a moment, like a river silvered by moonlight. Then a cloud rolled over and shut off all the beauty of the scene. Frank eased Hidalgo forward, looking for somewhere he could stay the night. There were no lights showing – it was later than he had thought.  
  
Something startled Hidalgo, making him lose his stride. The cloud passed and the moonlight was back, strong and strange, and Frank, seeing something lying on the roadway, reined in and stepped lightly down. He approached carefully – even with half a flask of whiskey in him he kept enough sense to be wary.  
  
It was a boy. About ten or twelve, maybe, though it was hard to tell. Bundled up in a coat and a blanket and apparently sleeping, right there. The stink of cheap alcohol told Frank all he needed to know. He hunkered down, picked the boy up and put him over his shoulder. But where to take him?  
  
The last building of any size in the street was a livery stable. Though it was closed up tight he hammered on the door and shouted till a tousled, sleep-drenched old man came, opened the door and calmly told him to be on his way, although not in those exact words. Frank blinked at the profanities the old man used to lend weight to his words and quietly, but insistently, made his case.  
  
He could be persuasive when he wanted to be, even with old men who were not anxious to have his business.  
  
He eased Hidalgo into a more or less clean stall, still carrying the boy over his shoulder.  
  
"You know him?" he asked, turning his back on the old man so that the boy's face could be inspected.  
  
"Yup. Lives with his mama on the edge of town. She'll be drunk herself by now. He can sleep here, if you don't mind him snoring."  
  
"Kind of you," Frank said, setting the boy down carefully in the straw. The wind mourned outside and there were piercing draughts, so that it was hardly better than being outside. "You got a couple of blankets, maybe?" He unsaddled Hidalgo, placing the saddle carefully over the top rail of the stall. He then pulled off his saddle blanket and laid that over the rails too. It effectively blocked the cold from that direction.  
  
The old man, taken with Frank's simple notion, went and fetched two more blankets, and between them they made a place where the heat from the horse could be trapped. That, and the coat and blanket the boy was already wearing, would be enough to keep him warm. He already looked less blue. Frank rubbed the boy's hands but couldn't get him to wake.  
  
"You sleeping here too?" the old man asked.  
  
"I had me an idea that a bed'd be comfortable. But seems like everyone's already gone to theirs."  
  
"The saloon has beds – upstairs, you know. Depends how much money you got. Maybe a little female companionship?"  
  
Frank grimaced. He didn't like that sort of matter being organised for him and he was in no mood to foist himself on a woman of easy virtue. Maybe, at the end of a race, when he was feeling good about himself, maybe then he was worth getting to know. But not now, not feeling like this. However, he was a determined man, and a stubborn one, and the idea of a bed had struck his fancy in a way he couldn't let go too easily.  
  
"Well, maybe I'll pay for a room of my own, if they've got one. Thanks."  
  
"Go round behind the place. They'll still be up, in the back room, playing cards or something. Tell them Old Joe sent you."  
  
"You look after my horse now. If you do anything to him, he'll tell me in the morning." Frank grinned at his little joke, his blue eyes smiling too. He took his saddlebags, checked the boy once more and then headed out into the cold again.  
  
He pulled his hat down more firmly and his fur collar round his ears. It truly was bitter, as if the wind had travelled over a land which had sucked all the heat from it. Round the back of the saloon he went, his long steps covering the ground quickly but he was still half-frozen in the process. It was darker there in the alley and Frank used all his senses to keep himself safe, and he reached the door without mishap. A little light oozed its way past a blind. He knocked, then let himself in.  
  
It seemed that saying "Old Joe sent me" was a passkey to a room, a bed of his own, and a full bottle of whiskey, all of which he paid for up front. He carried the candle they had given him up the narrow staircase and booted open the door to a room before stumbling inside. It was no warmer in there than it had been by his fire. Whatever comfort he had hoped for was slipping away from him. He took a long pull from the bottle in his hand.  
  
He looked longingly at the bed, with its very nearly clean sheets and at least three good blankets. It looked oddly lumpy and sagged a little, but it would have to do. He pulled off his spurs and his boots, set his hat on the nightstand, then dragged back the sheets and prepared to fit his lanky frame into the iron bedstead.  
  
It was his night for finding sleeping drunks. Only this one didn't appear to be drunk. But she was definitely sleeping. Hadn't woken even when the bed had tilted with his extra weight, though she was beginning to shift around. Frank decided it was the cold air that was disturbing her. She had been completely under the covers – the puzzling lumpiness of the bed was now explained. He threw the covers back down and was about to go complain to the management about the way they left strange women in people's bought and paid for beds when a sleepy voice enquired what time it was.  
  
"Ma'am, I have no idea. That's my bed you're sleeping in."  
  
"I knew it. Soon as I got myself into this bed I said, some cowboy will come and buy it from under me."  
  
Frank held up the candle, his eyes widening. "Ma'am?"  
  
A pair of large, sleepy, green eyes looked at him from a small, white face. There was the ghost of a smile on lips from which the paint had been carelessly wiped. "Well, way I see it, we can do one of three things. I can move out of this bed, which I just got warmed up. I can stay in this bed and you can sleep in that chair, which would be a shame for you. Or we can share this bed and both keep warmer than if we sleep separate. Your choice. No obligation. You can owe me money in the morning if you want, or not. Don't make no never mind to me."  
  
Frank considered the proposition. The woman – for woman it was, at least thirty and looking none too pretty with her hair in rag curlers – amused and bemused him by turns. He was beginning to think another drink might help him make up his mind when she spoke again.  
  
"Make a choice, cowboy. I need my beauty sleep."  
  
He shrugged, pulled his coat round him tighter and pulled the sheet to one side again, then sat down and swivelled round, settling himself as comfortably as he could. It was wide enough to accommodate them both, without one touching the other. She made no move towards him, but lay on her back, her eyes closed. He blew out the candle.  
  
He woke abruptly to someone shaking him. It was still dark, and he was sweating and trembling.  
  
"Mister! You was dreaming, and it wasn't good. You all right?" She was holding a candle, whose flame was trembling. He had scared her.  
  
"Sorry, ma'am," he muttered, knowing full well he wasn't all right. The dream, the nightmare, was going to rob him of part of another night's sleep. "I'll sleep in the chair. I'm liable to wake you again otherwise."  
  
"No – it's all right. I'll be asleep again soon enough. Lie down. Go on. What's your name, now we're both awake?" She turned away from him to set the candle down on a chair on her side of the bed. Its faint light gave her a touch of something like prettiness, which he hadn't noticed before.  
  
"Frank T Hopkins, ma'am. Pleased to make your acquaintance."  
  
"August Lil, that's me." She put out a hand, and he shook it. "So called because ..." But she stopped before she gave him the old line, the one about heat in August, which had amused many men. She frowned. "Lilian. Lilian O'Donnell."  
  
"I think maybe I had better sleep in the stable, ma'am. My horse is used to my dreamin', it don't wake him any more."  
  
She grimaced. "And here was me, warmer than I've been in a month, and you're threatening to take that with you to the stable? Stay put, cowboy. But maybe you'd like to take that coat off ..."  
  
Frank hunched back to the edge of the bed warily. He was in no fit state – no mood – no, he was too drunk. Truth was, he was too full of the sadness from the dream to catch at any moment's pleasure, even this.  
  
She grinned, disarming him. "It's all right, cowboy. I was only thinking, it looked a warm coat and maybe if you spread it over the bed it'd keep us both warm?"  
  
He was suddenly, desperately shy of her, of the whole situation. He had to find some way out of it without hurting her feelings.  
  
"You want the coat, ma'am, you take it. I can sleep without it. Here." He pulled at the sleeve and tugged the coat partway off. But he saw her shaking her head.  
  
"Over the bed or you keep it, Mr. Hopkins. I won't have it any other way."  
  
So he gave in, throwing the coat over the blankets and then he lay back and tried to stay awake for what was left of the night.  
  
The Ghost Dancers stayed away for an hour or so, until it was beginning to show some light outside the window and he could justify getting up and leaving. He had thought he'd been awake but when he turned to look for the woman whose bed he had shared, she was gone, leaving the faint impression of herself in the mattress. Something inside him was sorry about that. Some human companionship, someone who smiled at him and shared something of his. Well, he had been given that, for a few hours, and it would have to be enough.  
  
He washed up, then got some coffee downstairs in the kitchen, where a young woman flirted with him and took pity on him for his hunger, making him ham and eggs in return for a few of his precious coins. He talked to her for a while, about the weather, and the town, the way it was dying on its feet. He even, in a moment of weakness, asked the dark-eyed, dark-haired girl what she knew of Lilian. But she smiled, and avoided the question. He couldn't put off leaving any longer.  
  
The girl came to the door to wave him away, wiping her hands on her apron first then fluttering her hand at him. He lifted his hat to her, then took a deep breath of the cold air and headed back to the stable. Despite the odd night he felt refreshed, and calmer than he had done in a while. The whiskey bottle in his saddlebags was untouched, too, for the first time in a few mornings. He began to hum quietly to himself as he trudged towards the stable.  
  
"Morning, cowboy. Old Joe says you helped Mrs. Gibson's boy last night." It was Lilian, dressed more soberly than he had expected, and riding a black horse which looked old but still hardy.  
  
"Nearly walked over him in the dark. Just took him into the warm is all."  
  
"He didn't make it through the night, Mr.Hopkins. But at least he was comfortable."  
  
Frank stopped dead, his mouth falling open in shock. He could barely croak out a question. "He died, ma'am?"  
  
"Lilian," the woman corrected, looking at him closely. "You all right? You need to sit down?"  
  
"He died?"  
  
"Yeah. He's been ill for months – just gave up last night, I guess. It wasn't anything to do with what you did."  
  
Nothing to do with what he did? How many people had told him that. He felt ill and stumbled into the stable, head down, anxious to get on his way. He knew she was talking to him, then jumping down off her horse to come to his side but he shrugged her off and hurried to get Hidalgo ready to go. He couldn't hear her words. His horse wouldn't stand still as he communicated his haste and anxiety to him but he managed to get all his gear on Hidalgo's back, pay Joe, who was hovering nearby, and get up on his mustang's back.  
  
"Thanks, Joe. And you, ma'am," he muttered, not knowing what he was thanking them for, then he started Hidalgo forward. Maybe they said something to him, maybe not. The world was a blur.  
  
"Wait up, Frank T!"  
  
He heard her clear shout but ignored it. It was no good getting attached to anything. Rely on yourself, that was best.  
  
He rode out of town, travelling east, and only two people noticed him go. 


	3. Ch 3

Kay Linne: Thanks so much! Your encouragement means a lot to me.  
  
No Big Deal: Thanks for the positive review – glad you like the writing. I try to make the writing in keeping with the style of the film but I need to do some more research!  
  
Shekelz: Hey – glad you're enjoying the plot! Here's the next bit – I have indulged in a bit of a cliffie this time. Hope ya don't mind!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters – I am just playing with them for a while. I won't damage them (much). But if I'm told to stop playing with them I shall sulk.  
  
Lost Part 3  
  
For an hour he and Hidalgo dawdled along. He had no idea where they were going but Hidalgo seemed content to follow the rough track across the grassland without guidance from his rider.  
  
Frank had had a plan. Join Buffalo Bill. It was a simple plan but he was trying to be a simple man. It was life that kept twisting that simplicity into knots. He thought about the young boy, dying alone and unloved. He should have stayed there with him, or got him to a doctor, done something, anything, rather than simply leave him. And Miss O'Donnell had told him so calmly that he was dead, like it was an everyday thing, losing a boy. He was well away from there.  
  
He began to doze, the influence of a restless night, a couple of nips of alcohol and complete faith in Hidalgo combining to lower his guard. The world was quiet, no birds calling, and even the wind had stilled. The horizon ahead was empty. The world had gone away and for the moment, that was the way he liked it.  
  
It was Hidalgo's shift of pace that woke him. He had broken into a canter, jostling Frank into taking tighter grip on the reins and a firmer hold with his legs.  
  
"Whoa, little brother – what's got your goat?"  
  
He looked ahead. The roadway, rough as it was, had disappeared, or perhaps they were off it. Hidalgo had caught a scent of something and was heading straight as an arrow across the rough grassland. Frank worked to bring him back, pulling him to a quivering standstill. He stood in the stirrups, shading his eyes, then snorted with humour.  
  
"You wanna be back with the herd?" Frank asked, his sadness returning abruptly. He watched a herd of horses gather themselves, sensing another stallion in the neighbourhood. They milled, uncertain, one braver than the rest edging forward, sniffing the air. Hidalgo called to them and Frank smiled.  
  
"They're pretty. But we've got other plans, ain't we."  
  
Hidalgo snorted, pawing the ground.  
  
"And it ain't as easy for you, gettin' acquainted." He thought how easy it could have been, laying his dollar down. And how dangerous.  
  
They stood, horse and man, watching the horses until a shout made the herd turn and run, a wave washing over the land. Frank sighed and turned to see who was interrupting their moment of enjoyment.  
  
"Mr.Hopkins!"  
  
It was the woman from the previous night, O'Donnell. What was she doing following him? He was not unhappy about seeing her again, but neither was he was hopeful it would be a happy experience. He wheeled Hidalgo, who looked positively crestfallen, and raised his hat in greeting.  
  
"Ma'am? You're a ways out of town."  
  
"I'm just going to visit my friends, the Watsons. They have a place about two miles that way." She waved an arm vaguely. "I saw you over here and thought maybe I'd better warn you. They're – they're jealous of their stock, Mr.Hopkins – they've been breeding them carefully for a long while now. If you were thinking of letting Hidalgo run with them, that is."  
  
"How'd you know that's what I was thinking?"  
  
"I guessed. I know men." She rode up, grinning broadly, looking a little better than she had the night before.  
  
"You do that," he offered but that didn't seem to be the right thing to say. He had forgotten her trade in the brilliance of her smile. It faded as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Seemed like she could joke about it and he could not. He understood that. He tried to make amends. "I wouldn't let him run with them. I'd hafta to wait too long to get him back. I think he's already beginning to wonder if he should stick with me or leave me flat."  
  
"You have plans to be somewhere else?"  
  
"Maybe." He gathered Hidalgo, ready to move him off back to the road. He glanced up at the sky. It was a cold, washed-out blue, with high white streaks of cloud. In the north, a bank of dark grey clouds was building. He narrowed his eyes and considered telling her it might storm but he caught her looking that way too. She knew. There was something else in her eyes, too, and in her voice when she spoke, some fear he could recognise but not understand. She had nothing to fear from him.  
  
"Mr.Hopkins – I was wondering. Could you help me out?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am, if I can." His answer didn't require any thought. It was second nature to help any woman.  
  
"The reason I'm going to the Watsons – don't you think we should move on? We've got about an hour before that hits." She looked again at the sky, and the way the dark cloud was growing.  
  
He nodded, and stirred Hidalgo into action. She tucked her black in close, almost alongside him.  
  
"The reason I'm going there," she continued, "is, I'm trading in Billy for a younger horse. He's still a good horse but I think it's time he retired. They promised they would keep him. I was wondering if you could give up a little of your precious time and help me find a sound horse. I know the Watsons but, well, I don't know much about horses."  
  
He considered that statement. She did not look quite comfortable on her horse, not like someone born to it, at any rate. It could be the truth. He couldn't think of any reason for not trusting her to tell him the truth. And there was the thought that, in an hour, he could be wet and cold again – a ranch house and some hot coffee wouldn't come amiss.  
  
"Be glad to help."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He waited for more. He was used to females who talked when there was nothing to say, and she had seemed one of those only a few minutes before. He found the silence unnerving and turned to look at her, pushing his hat down a little deeper on his forehead as the wind began to stir. She looked thoughtful.  
  
"You all right, ma'am?"  
  
"Yes, Frank, I am. You?"  
  
He let her catch right up to him but when she did, he had no idea what to say. She didn't ply him with questions, though, and it didn't seem impolite just to nod at her. They trotted on, the wind rising, the sunlight dimming. Getting caught out here in a snowstorm could be bad. It might not be snow, but it could be.  
  
"We should move along a little faster, I reckon," he said, glancing at her. "How much further?"  
  
"Over the next rise. And the next." Her mouth was set. "We got time, don't we?"  
  
"I reckon."  
  
But the clouds were gaining on them. 


	4. Ch 4

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are the property of others. I am only playing with them and I will give them if asked to do so. Sadly, but I will. Cat  
  
They almost made it. They had been cutting across country, she leading the way, when they came to a wide gully, steep slope down, a rushing torrent at the bottom and a steep slope up and there was the house. It looked warm and welcoming and a long way away.  
  
"Crossing's up that way, a few hundred yards," she said, looking back. She was holding her coat collar tightly against the rising wind.  
  
Frank nodded. If it had been him alone, he'd have taken Hidalgo across right there. Pellets of hail were already beginning to fall, cutting into the water and pockmarking it. Hidalgo shifted uncomfortably under the quickening assault of ice and Billy was beginning to back up, head down, ears twitching nervously.  
  
"Push on, ma'am. Fast as Billy'll let ya."  
  
She glanced at him and he read the fear in her eyes. He pulled his hat down more firmly and wheeled Hidalgo, taking the side nearest the gully and trying to shelter his companion. She kicked Billy forward but it was a worry, watching his own way and hers, with the hail pelting them painfully and obscuring their way.  
  
In a few minutes he knew they had to get off and try to wait it out. His pants were soaked through and he was cold to the bone. Hidalgo was miserable, head down, trying to resist going forward into the wind. They should be standing, backs to the hail, waiting for it to pass.  
  
He leaned over to her and shouted about the clatter of ice on stone. "We gotta lead them, ma'am. Get off him."  
  
She looked at him, her mouth forming a question, so he dismounted and hoped she'd follow suit. The ground was slippery, covered in little icy ball- bearings, and he had trouble keeping his feet for a moment. He looked up to check her progress when he'd turned Hidalgo and settled him. She stood only a couple of feet away and he instinctively stepped back, surprised at her invasion of his personal space. She clung to Billy's reins but seemed at a loss what to do next.  
  
He gathered his stupefied wits and pulled her close, setting her back to his chest and by virtue of his height giving her some shelter. Billy was pulling at her, and he could feel her being dragged a little way from him then back. She didn't complain. She didn't say anything and he could only see her hat, crammed down as tight as his own. He could feel her shaking with cold, though, and wished for a moment to be able to do something to help her.  
  
In a few minutes, the worst of the storm passed, leaving a whitened landscape, brilliant in the first shaft of sunshine. He released her so that she could tend to Billy, while he patted Hidalgo, reassuring him, checking him out for any sore spots.  
  
Quite what happened next, he couldn't for the life of him remember. All he did was bend over to check out his horse's foreleg, then something bumped him, shoving him off-balance and making him take a step back to steady himself. His foot simply did not connect with anything. He slithered backwards, letting go of Hidalgo's rein and trying to grab anything to stop himself, but the steep slope was awash with hailstones and sliding mud. There was nothing to stop him, then he was on his stomach, trying to get himself turned round somehow.  
  
A rock broke his fall. He waited, panting and numb, for the world to make some sense again, then tried to raise his head. A vicious burst of hail made him groan and lie still; then it was gone and he could begin to look around him.  
  
He was half-way down the slope. He thought he was all right, mainly, though moving just right then was out of the question. Waiting until his heart stopped trying to beat its way of out his chest seemed like a plan. Maybe just a few moments' rest, even sleep, would fortify him before he climbed that slope. Or maybe slid to the bottom. Making the decision to do either was beyond him.  
  
"Frank!"  
  
He didn't want to wake. It was warm, the place he'd drifted to, and it was comfortable. Waking up meant facing the cold and the discomfort and the – the sheer trouble of climbing back into his life. But the voice, whosever it was, wasn't going to allow him the luxury of any more sleep.  
  
"Frank! You okay?"  
  
Well, of course he was okay. Heck, he'd fallen off enough horses in his life. Couldn't be much worse than that. Once, he'd broken his leg way out in the prairie. Still managed to get himself back to town and fixed up. Hadn't needed no help, neither. Stubbornly, he kept quiet. Maybe she'd just go on her way.  
  
"I'm coming down. Will your horse stand for me? Billy's run off – I don't know what else to do!"  
  
O'Donnell. Lil. As he remembered who she was, he knew he had to stop her. "No, ma'am, you wait right there. I got myself here, I can get myself out of this." He gathered himself sufficiently to drag himself up onto his knees but putting his right hand down on the ground sent hot knives of pain up his forearm. He kneeled, head down, until they passed then looked up. Some fifteen or twenty feet above him she was kneeling too, peering out over the edge of the gully, with Hidalgo right behind her. She had his lariat in her hand and was uncoiling it rapidly.  
  
"If I drop this down, can you tie it round yourself?"  
  
"I'll try." He already knew he couldn't but if he agreed, the moment when he would have to admit defeat would be put off a little while.  
  
The rope snaked out to him. It was a good throw and he caught the lifeline in his left hand, hoping unreasonably that he could somehow lash it and tie it with one hand. He stood, letting the rope take some of the strain until he realised she was the only one holding his weight.  
  
"Ma'am!" he shouted anxiously. "Let the horse bring me up. I'll pull you over!"  
  
She looked puzzled for a moment then scrambled to her feet. Then she shouted down to him, "How? How do I tie it to him? He won't stand still!"  
  
"You jug-eared son of a mule! Stand for the lady! You ain't got the manners of a jackass!" He was feeling dizzy and nauseous but his tirade vented his feelings and focused his mind. Somehow he managed to wrap the rope once round himself then bring both ends to his left hand. "Dally it round the pommel – tie it off with a half-hitch. He'll pull when I tell him to."  
  
He could hear her sobbing and knew she was having to make this up as she went along. She had no call to know about lariats and roping and such. She had no idea what he meant so he tried again. "Loop the end of the rope over and under and round, like a figure eight – that'll hold it. Hidalgo'll do the rest."  
  
After a few agonising moments she shouted, "I got it! I think I got it. You tie yourself on tight, Frank – the ground's shifting up here!"  
  
Now he had to tell her. "Can't do it, ma'am. You just shove that horse back best you can and I'll hold on."  
  
The rope tightened in his hand and he made it six feet or so before he lost his hold and he fell again, trying this time to roll onto his back. As unconsciousness took his vision, the last sound he heard was Miss Lilian O'Donnell shouting his name. 


	5. Ch 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Frank T Hopkins and I am writing about him only for the pleasure of doing so. I am making no money from this enterprise.  
  
Warning: this chapter is one reason I stuck a 13 warning on the chapter – though their eyes are shut, I promise ...  
  
For the next few minutes, Frank wrestled to wake properly. Something had hit him, hard, and the side of his head throbbed with the pain of it. He lay still trying to assess where he had landed this time. He was on his back, head up-slope, and he hurt everywhere, hips, knees, elbows, hands – the vulnerable points. His right forearm was a mass of tingling pulsations of pain.  
  
He couldn't go on just lying there, not with small stones still rolling past him. He struggled and sat up, but a shout made him freeze.  
  
"Stay still! You go to the bottom and we'll be packing a corpse outta there!" A man's voice, with enough conviction in it to curtail his attempts to stand.  
  
Then, unexpectedly, a voice right behind him. "You move, Frank T., and I swear I'll leave you down there for the buzzards. After I come down here for you special, too."  
  
He glanced up. Lil stood just above him. She was tied round the waist with a rope, and was using that to balance herself. "Where d'you hurt?"  
  
"Think my arm's busted. Not too much else, apart from my head, maybe. My hands ain't so bad."  
  
"No need to worry, then." She was right next to him now, kneeling, pulling down another rope that snaked from the top of the gully. She tried to tie it round him but he winced as she nudged his arm.  
  
"Leave it, ma'am. You go on back now. I can manage this." But he pulled a face when he remembered what had happened last time he had tried that line.  
  
She took no notice of him. She carefully helped him stick his hand between the buttons on his jacket and that helped some. Then she tried again, this time fetching the rope round him and tying it off.  
  
"Okay, Mr Watson! Yeah, you too, horse! Haul away! One tired old cowboy comin' up!"  
  
She helped him to his feet, turned him around and then put a hand on his back. This time, with the support of the rope round him he was able to scramble up the loose cliff. At the top, two pairs of hands took hold of him. Hidalgo snorted a greeting. Frank's little brother had pulled him up.  
  
"Howdy," said an old man, holding out his hand in greeting. He was small and bundled round with clothes and yet he looked tough and experienced. Frank began to relax a little.  
  
"Howdy," Frank answered. "Lucky you were here."  
  
"Lucky she was here, ya mean. She's the one stopped you from fallin' right down to the bottom." The old man, brown eyes dancing but not showing a trace of a smile, nodded down the slope, then pushed Hidalgo back.  
  
Frank glanced down and watched Lil coming up on the rope, one hand hanging on, the other holding up her skirts. She gave him a cheery grin which faded at his expression.  
  
In truth, he wished himself a million miles away. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone any more, least of all to – to her.  
  
But he nodded to her anyway, and promptly threw up, taking even himself by surprise. The old man caught his arm as he fell to one knee, then the world blanked out again.  
  
Hidalgo was carrying him. He'd know his gait out of a million horses. He was tied on, sitting, but leaning so far forward that his horse's mane was in his mouth. They were climbing up. Lil was at his side, one hand holding his left hand. His right was still tucked into his jacket, keeping his arm steady.  
  
"Not far now. Hang on."  
  
"I'm sticking right here, ma'am," he said, feeling nauseous again. But he hung on just the same, to her voice and to the movement of his horse under him, until they approached the ranch house. By then, consciousness was coming back to him, though he was feeling off balance and tired out. He was able to step down by himself and climb the steps onto a grand, airy verandah . He glanced around and saw money, a good deal of money, in the size of the place and the make of door and windows, before he stepped indoors, conscious that he was wet, unshaven and that his clothes were filthy, but no one seemed to care.  
  
"This way, cowboy," said the old man. "Miss O'Donnell – ya want to see to him while I get some hot food on? Family's all out working, womenfolk went to town – we weren't expecting company."  
  
He wanted to tell her he didn't need help. He wanted to just sit down where he was and let himself sleep. But she wasn't having any of that and stood at his elbow, waiting until he moved himself down the white-painted, clean corridor, leaving a muddy track behind him.  
  
"In here. Guest quarters." She opened the door for him, clearly familiar with her surroundings. The room was large, comfortable and cold. There was a fireplace, a nightstand, a large bed, a couple of easy chairs and a large wardrobe. It was grander than many hotels he had been in.  
  
He turned to her, but she was there before him. "Don't even think it. I'm staying until you and that bed are thoroughly acquainted. And you are not going to muddy up those nice clean sheets." She stepped in close and had his jacket off his shoulders before he could protest, and was carefully pulling the sleeve off his arm. He followed her line of reasoning and pulled back with a wince.  
  
"I can do it, ma'am. Been a while since any female ..."  
  
"Has it now? Then pretend like I'm your mother. Or a man. But these wet clothes are coming off. You don't have anything I haven't seen before."  
  
"You haven't seen mine," he thought. But she was an unstoppable force, and had stopped his mouth with a mention of his mother undressing him, and had him sitting in a chair to remove his boots. His shirt was already lying on the floor. Pants next. He made one last feeble protest but it was no good. She threw his pants on top of his shirt. He stood shivering in his union suit, wondering how much more of his dignity he was expected to lose. He was holding his arm up carefully, painfully aware of the way the suit clung to him.  
  
She began unbuttoning, pushing the wet wool off his shoulders and easing his arms out. At last she hesitated.  
  
"I'm sorry, Frank T. I can't leave these on ya. You turn round, I'll close my eyes and you can get under the blankets."  
  
So that's how they managed, and he was grateful for her unexpected preservation of his privacy. But somehow, it seemed easier when he shut his own eyes, then he could pretend it wasn't happening.  
  
He stepped out of the legs and felt his skin react into goose bumps. He was trembling and clammy and still had his eyes shut. Then a blanket was thrown round his shoulders. He was half-blinded by the sunshine when he finally opened his eyes again as he was guided to a bed with sheets neatly folded back for him. He sat himself down, blanket drawn tightly round himself and lay back. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and glared at her, daring her to approach him again.  
  
"You can't sleep like that. I'll get a nightshirt and some supplies."  
  
"Ma'am?" He couldn't let her just go. She looked so – well, he couldn't put a name to her expression but she wasn't happy with him. "Thank you, ma'am."  
  
"You're entirely welcome. Try to stay awake, now. You need some doctoring and old man Watson, he's pretty good at curing whatever ails ya."  
  
Slowly, he began to warm up under the heavy layer of blanket and comforter. He dozed, letting himself drift in the quiet, white room, with sunlight making golden squares on the floor. It was like the heaven his father had told him about, beautiful and quiet and happy. His aches subsided in the calm atmosphere.  
  
But the thought of the way he had treated her worried him. She had done nothing but try to help him. So why was he pushing her away, glaring at her, giving her faint words of thanks? Finding a reason for his actions was too difficult, suddenly, as his head spun and his stomach lurched. He clamped his mouth shut and concentrated on avoiding any more embarrassments.  
  
Then Mr.Watson came into the room and perversely, Frank was disappointed when Lil – when Miss O'Donnell was not with him.  
  
"All right, son, let me look at the arm." He pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning across the bed to take Frank's hand. "Seen a few looked like that in my time," he said, pushing the blanket back and exposing a bruised and swollen forearm. "This is going to hurt some, but you don't need me to tell ya that, do you – Frank? That what she called ya?"  
  
He was feeling round the bones. The pain was keen and Frank sweated.  
  
"Don't think it's too bad, bones even seem to be in the right places. Maybe they ain't broke after all – but I ain't takin' any chances. Man needs his right hand to work properly. I'm putting these boards on ya and tying it up tight as it'll go without cutting off the blood to ya hand. Okay?"  
  
And so he babbled on, talking Frank through what he was doing, though Frank was familiar enough with the process. He squirmed in the bed, trying to keep his body under control.  
  
"You feeling sickly again? You want anything?" Mr Watson said, watching him.  
  
"Yeah," was all Frank could manage.  
  
"Okay, son, here. In case." He drew a pot from under the bed. "I'll be back in a little while. You make yerself comfortable. Lilian – she's cutting up the sleeve of one of my old nightshirts for ya, and she's making you some broth, and she'll be in to light the fire. You need it nice and warm."  
  
Mr. Watson stood with his hand on the doorknob. "I haven't seen her work so hard fer a man for a while now. She's not what you think she is, ya know."  
  
Frank was about to answer but the old man had gone.  
  
He made himself as comfortable as he could, finally feeling sure his stomach was not going to betray him again, and then slipped his legs back under the sheets. He was awake now, and began to take time to look round the room. It was one way to avoid trying to find answers to the questions the old rancher had left him with. 


	6. Ch 6

Thanks very much for the positive feedback, which has spurred me on to write this next part. Cat  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Frank but I hope those who do own him don't mind me writing a little something for him. The other characters are all mine.  
  
He was just admiring a large painting of a herd of horses at full gallop when there was a knock – no, a kick – at the door.  
  
"You decent, Frank T?" It was Lilian, pushing the door open and entering backwards, carrying a tray and a bucket and weighed down with various items of clothing over her shoulders.  
  
He made sure everything was covered and tried to look nonchalant. But when he told her she was safe to turn round, and she did, she looked so – so domesticated, with strands of hair curling round her face and an apron on, and it unsettled him.  
  
"You want something to eat? Or the fire lit? Or I could help you into a nightshirt?" She was more tentative then he had seen her before, and stood as if waiting for him to make the decision for her.  
  
"Nightshirt, ma'am. If that's all right." He tried to sit up and the tray almost slipped from her hands as she rushed to help him. She set the tray on the nightstand and put out her hand to him. He was grateful for her help.  
  
She pulled the blanket from round his shoulders and shook out the nightshirt.  
  
"Did the best I could with it," she said, reaching up through the garment and grasping the neck. "You can leave your arm inside or we could try to get it through the sleeve."  
  
Between them somehow, the shirt went over his head. But after that it was awkward, working his painful arm and its clumsy strapping through the right sleeve, which she had split along the seam up to the elbow. He managed to slip in his good arm and pull the shirt down to his waist but it wasn't going any further, not without help. He looked at her and she looked at him.  
  
"Reckon you'd better shut your eyes again, ma'am," he said, his heart beating a little faster.  
  
"You want me to get Mr. Watson?"  
  
"I think I'm getting used to you doing it. Ma'am." He glanced at her again. She had grasped the nightshirt firmly and had already closed her eyes but the corner of her mouth betrayed her feelings. He leaned on his good arm, raised his hips and let her pull the garment down. "Thanks, that about does it. Reckon my dignity's the least of my worries right now. How long before you reckon I can be moving on?"  
  
She reached for a towel and began to dry his hair, being careful to avoid the sore spot on the side of his head.  
  
"Oh – you want to move on? I was thinking, maybe, you could work for Mr. Watson for a while? Once we get this fever down, that is. You could do some work with the horses, couldn't you?"  
  
"I could," he said carefully. "If I was going to stay."  
  
She said nothing. What she had wanted to say was said and answered. She fetched a comb to his hair but he took it gently from her hand.  
  
"Reckon I can do that. Fire'd be nice, though. If I'm gonna be stuck here in this fancy residence I'd like to make use of all the facilities."  
  
She nodded and walked over to the fireplace, taking her bucket with her. It had kindling in it and a couple of small logs and while he tried to pull the comb through his long hair she fed a small flame carefully, tending it until it caught and she could add one or two larger logs from the basket by the hearth. The room began to warm.  
  
Frank set the comb on the nightstand and looked at the cup of soup and plate with a couple of biscuits on the tray she had brought. He calculated whether he could reach the soup without unbalancing the tray. He didn't feel much like food but it was necessary for him to keep up his strength. But the world was revolving again, and he badly wanted to just sleep the recovery time away.  
  
"You want some of that? Some of the soup? Biscuit, maybe?" She was back but he was sinking away from her, head back in the pillows and struggling to slide further down. "Frank – you all right?"  
  
He shut his eyes against the pain in his head and tried to find a comfortable place for his arm. He felt a pillow being shoved against his side and his arm being moved onto that before he fell asleep.  
  
He was trapped in a circular idea. He needed to do something. He couldn't think what it was and tried to run through in his mind everything that experience had taught him he needed to do when he set up camp. He had moved stones to make a safe place for the fire. He had gathered enough wood. He sure was warm enough – too warm if anything. He had cooked something – he couldn't remember what – and wasn't hungry, so it stood to reason that he had eaten something. And he was comfortable, so he must have found a good, soft place to spread his bedroll. So what needed doing? The more he went round his list, the more anxious he became that he had an important job that needed doing.  
  
Then it struck him. Hidalgo. How could he forget? He tried hard to remember – had he set him loose to forage? He couldn't hear him anywhere around. Come to that, he couldn't hear any of the sounds he was expecting to hear, the sough of the wind, or the tiny rattle of windblown detritus on the coffee pot. And it wasn't dark, as he found out when he finally opened his eyes.  
  
How could he be in a hotel? It didn't make a particle of sense. He must have left Hidalgo tied up on the hitching rail because he couldn't remember going to the stable. It needed sorting out, immediately, and he reached out for his coat and hat so that he could do what needed doing. He should have seen to it already. Hidalgo came first, before his own comforts. He'd never done anything like it before.  
  
But his coat and hat were nowhere to be seen, and his arm hurt like the devil when he stretched it out from under the warm blankets. No wonder he was hot. He had blankets piled on him, enough to keep a family warm. He used his left hand this time, having learned his lesson, and pulled the blankets and sheet aside. He swung his legs round. They didn't seem quite part of him but he had a job to do. He had no right being sleepy and comfortable with Hidalgo out there in the street.  
  
It was quite a task, for some reason he wasn't quite getting, to move across the room but he felt a little stronger by the time he got to the door. He felt a little silly in the nightshirt and bare feet, but needs must when the devil drives. He paused to think who had used this little phrase. His father. Long ago. Well, his father was long gone. He shuffled along the corridor, left arm out to give himself a little help, and began to think he must be drunk. The place wasn't like any hotel he had ever been in. Perhaps he was dreaming.  
  
He reached the front door without bumping into anyone. The light was beginning to fade, the oranges and reds which had suffused his room disappearing and being replaced by a soft pearl grey which suited his mood better.  
  
It was cold outside, too cold, and he wished he could have found his coat. The wind whipped his nightshirt round his legs and he shivered.  
  
Then there was a hand on his arm, and a quiet voice and he let himself be led back inside, though he wanted to know where Hidalgo was.  
  
"He's fine, Frank, in a nice warm stable. You're staying on a ranch, and you're sick. Now come on, down here. Come on."  
  
He hesitated, trying to see who it was speaking to him. He thought he knew her. She looked worried and small, and she couldn't take him back to that room if he didn't want to go.  
  
"Frank, please. You're getting cold. You need to stay warm. Please. There's no-one here but me right now – Mr. Watson's tending the stock. I'm sorry – I went to sleep. Come on, please."  
  
He didn't like to disappoint her, whoever she was. She was nice-looking, some part of his brain was telling him, and it would be a shame not to do what she wanted. So he shuffled after her, letting her lead him by the hand until they were back in the over-warm room.  
  
She helped him to sit on the edge of the bed and started to rub his feet.  
  
"You're frozen half to death – your feet are like ice."  
  
She was right. He did feel cold. He felt grey, too, sort of worn out and lethargic, and he couldn't find the energy to say anything. She seemed to be saying enough for the two of them, anyway. She talked and he heard the music of her voice but not the words any more. When she tried to lift his legs back onto the bed he co-operated as best he could, then he heard her, quite clearly.  
  
"Frank – you scared me half to death. Don't go leaving this bed again, you hear me? Can you hear me?"  
  
He nodded, and the world swayed. He still couldn't say anything.  
  
"You stay here. I'll get you some water. You just stay here."  
  
She managed somehow to get him settled and he remembered at last where he was, and who she was, and how foolish he had been, giving in to his fever like that.  
  
"I've been a fool," he muttered. "Shouldn't have done that. Sorry I put you to any trouble, ma'am."  
  
"It wasn't any trouble. It wasn't. You just had me scared there. Outside like that. You warm enough now?"  
  
"Yeah. You can leave me be – I ain't goin' nowhere again in a hurry. Leave me be."  
  
"Oh. You don't want me to get you any water then?"  
  
"No, Miss Lilian – I said, I'm all right now. You leave me be."  
  
He heard her make some noise, he couldn't have said what, but he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He heard her boot heels click on the floor then all fell silent.  
  
Sleep eluded him completely. He was aware of every noise, every flickering shadow as the room darkened. He couldn't even doze for the people coming to see him. Mr Watson, and another woman, maybe Mrs Watson because she looked old. Then there was another, younger woman, not Lilian, who had brought him some water then gone away. A young man, too, not out of his twenties, he judged. So many folk, all fussing over him and keeping him from sleeping, giving him bitter things to drink and keeping his blankets straight. He had not had such a crowd of folk looking after him since as long as he could remember.  
  
But no more Lilian. No light hand, or half smile, and no look from those eyes, those green eyes, which she closed when she had to. No more Lilian. 


	7. Ch 7

Disclaimer: As ever, I don't own the character Frank because he was dreamed up by some talented people. I make no money from this enterprise. The other characters are my own.  
  
Three days. Three lots of twenty-four hours. That was seventy-two hours. Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes. And many, many seconds. Time he had spent waiting out his fever. Now he was doing complicated sums in his head to stop himself wondering when Lilian might come and see him.  
  
He was flat out, awake, and cool. The fever had broken sometime in the early morning, leaving him drained of every ounce of energy. He had been puzzling out where the fever had come from but couldn't pinpoint it. It hadn't been a cold. Apart from the ache in his arm he couldn't find a thing wrong with himself, except that he felt hollow and out of sorts.  
  
He waited for someone to help him out, and Samuel, old man Watson's grandson, had come to his shout. When he was settled again, the young man had welcomed him back to the world, put a drink in his hand and gone.  
  
Now he wanted to get up, pack up his stuff, get on Hidalgo and ride out. The room was a prison, whatever it looked like, whoever looked after him, and he was ready to leave. Nothing to stop him. He should just get up and saddle up, though it came hard to leave the Watsons without some payback for their hospitality.  
  
He would do it, too. In a couple of minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds.  
  
It would have been good to have seen Lilian once more. Maybe before he left. Just to say goodbye and thank her. If she wasn't there, maybe he could write her a note. Maybe, all things considered, that would be the best way to go.  
  
"Mornin', Frank T." The door was pushed open and a cheery, hoarse voice interrupted his calculations. "You ready for a shave?"  
  
He struggled to sit up. "Ma'am – fever's broke."  
  
"I know. Samuel told me. Said he'd helped you out, too." She put down the large bowl she was carrying on the nightstand and coughed into her hand.  
  
He made up his mind not to drive her away this time. "Everyone's been real kind, ma'am."  
  
"They're a good family. Took me in when I needed them." She came to sit on the side of the bed. "You think you can sit up?"  
  
"I reckon." He managed it, too, though he felt a touch light-headed. She draped a large towel over his chest and ran one hand experimentally through his stubble.  
  
"If you keep still enough, you'll get a good shave. I've done this before," she said, reaching for the brush and a bowl of lather.  
  
She had, too. He kept silent while she moved his face, confidently shaving away the stubble and cleaning the cutthroat razor on a cloth. When she moved to the other side of the bed to tackle his right cheek he saw she was puzzled about how to do it for the best.  
  
"I think ..." she said hesitantly. "I think I'll have to kneel over you. You think you can stand that?" She looked at him with a spark of mischief in her eyes and his heart missed a couple of beats.  
  
"I reckon. You all right?"  
  
She had turned away from him and was coughing again and he resisted the urge to reach up and lay a hand on her back.  
  
"You know, it's strange," she said when she had recovered herself. "You got the fever, I got the cough."  
  
"That why you've not been near me for three days?" He hadn't meant it to sound quite so sharp but there it was, the question he had been longing to ask was out in the open.  
  
She stopped smiling. "Not entirely."  
  
He looked at her and she met his eyes steadily. In the end, it was he who broke the contact. He couldn't push her further. He was on unsafe ground.  
  
"Well – you okay with me sitting across you?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am. I reckon I can stand it if you can."  
  
So she did, and it wasn't as awkward as he thought it might be. As she wiped the last traces of lather from his face he wondered what to say.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am." It was hopelessly inadequate. She had saved his life. "Thank you very much."  
  
Lil threw the towel back onto the nightstand and he thought for a moment that she was angry with him. Then she kissed him. Just a light kiss, and she had leaned in to him without touching him. Then she sat back on his thighs, head on one side, looking at him curiously.  
  
"That is what you wanted me to do, isn't it?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," he gasped, feeling winded. "Yeah." He wanted so much to reach for her that it hurt. But he couldn't – he just couldn't. There was too much in the way. No – this was stupid, it was hurting her, it was not right. Neither taking her invitation nor refusing it was a clear choice. In the long moments it took him to make a decision, she had made one of her own. He could read disappointment in her whole body.  
  
He expected her to, well, at least look at him, but she was rambling something which sounded somehow apologetic. "Well, I'd better get out of your way, then. You'll be wanting to get dressed. I don't suppose it's what you should do," she continued, climbing back over him and off the bed, "but I have no doubt it it's what you want to do. And I'd better get this bowl back to the old man, because he doesn't know I've borrowed it." She stopped abruptly, facing away from him  
  
"Lilian?"  
  
"It's all right. I'm all right. I'll tell someone you need some help to get up." She kept her face averted while she threw the towel over her shoulder, picked up the bowl of water and walked out without another word.  
  
He lay back and tried hard not to wonder what he had said wrong this time. But mostly, the feel of her lips on his scrambled his brain too much for any inquest.  
  
It took him the better part of two hours to feel anything like ready to move to another room, but a dogged determination to talk to Lil again drove him, and he was shuffling down the corridor and into main room, where large, comfortable chairs and couches invited him to rest from his labours.  
  
Sure enough, she was there, reading, and she looked at him when he came to a halt in the doorway. A large fire shed hot light over the space he didn't quite feel able to invade.  
  
"I'll go back to my room, if you want me to," he said, wondering what the answer might be.  
  
"No – looks like it cost you something to get here. Stay, Frank T., make yourself at home."  
  
She relaxed visibly when he took a couple of steps into the room. "You feeling better, ma'am?" he ventured. Perhaps she had been ill when she left him last time.  
  
"I'm all right. You want something to read?"  
  
He ducked his head. "Thank you. But – maybe I could interrupt you for a while? You mind if I ask you a few questions?"  
  
He sank gratefully into the corner of a large, soft couch.  
  
She put down her book. "Ask away."  
  
"Well. This place."  
  
"Old Man Watson made a fortune in San Francisco. Kept it, too. But the way he tells it, it didn't suit him to stay and do what he was doing any longer, so he sold up and came back here, where he was born. Built himself the fanciest ranch house he could, though. Got two panes of glass where folks usually put one, and he's thinking of putting a heating system in so you won't hardly need these fires."  
  
"He done a good job. It's a comfortable place."  
  
"More than that."  
  
"How did you get to know him, ma'am? If ya don't mind me askin'?"  
  
"I don't mind. I was working there – working – well, you know what I was doing. That first night, I wasn't lying to you. Friend of his, he found me when I was in trouble." Her head dropped. She wasn't going to tell him the whole truth. "Mr. Watson took me in, seein' I was from the same town as him, and he knew my uncle pretty well. Brought me back here."  
  
He puzzled over what she'd said. He had thought perhaps she was lying about being a loose woman, joshing him or something, but she was hinting it was true. In San Francisco, at least. August Lil, she'd called herself.  
  
"So you – you started up a business here?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows and grimaced. "I owned that saloon. Bought it myself with my earnings. Ran a respectable business."  
  
It was his turn to feel the stab of embarrassment. He became gruff with it. "Didn't mean anything else, ma'am."  
  
"Lilian! Why don't you call me Lilian? And you did mean something else, so why are you telling me different?" Her emotion started her coughing again.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma – Lilian. Maybe I should go back to my room?"  
  
She didn't answer for a moment. "No, please don't. I'm sorry – I had no call shoutin' at you like that. No reason at all for you to know I owned that place, or that I don't run the local cat house."  
  
He looked at her, then put out his left hand to her, inviting her to sit by him. She stood and stepped over to him.  
  
"I keep feeling like we should somehow start over. We seem to misunderstand each other most of the time." She sat down and he let his arm rest on the back of the couch, and at last they began to get to know each other a little, exchanging easy questions and answers until he began to feel tired and she began coughing again.  
  
She pulled up her feet and settled near him, her head on his arm, and dozed. He worried that she looked pale and tired, but it felt right for her to be there, trusting him at last, letting him watch over her as she slept. 


	8. Ch 8

Disclaimer: Frank T does not belong to me. I am just giving him a new story with some new characters.  
  
He heard her breath hitch as she woke. She turned her head away to cough.  
  
"That ain't getting' no better, is it?" he asked, concerned.  
  
She looked up at him when she got her breath back.  
  
"It's just a cough. You look tired," she said, putting her feet on the floor. "What time is it?"  
  
"Only four o'clock. Too early to go back to bed. I feel like I slept a week out."  
  
"Wonder where that fever came from. You still cool?" She held a hand to his forehead and he resisted pulling away from her. She rewarded his patience with a smile. "I guess you're all right."  
  
He wasn't sure how she meant that. He took a chance. "I guess you're all right too, ma'am. Lilian. You want me to pick you out a new horse tomorrow?"  
  
At last she smiled with a real joy in her eyes. "Mr.Watson's put three in the corral. I don't know how to pick between them – do I take the prettiest one, the stubborn one or the one that looks like she could be a friend?" She laughed and looked at him, and he couldn't help but wonder what she was driving at. He casually moved to put his hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Depends what you need the horse to do. I'll look at them tomorrow, help you decide," he said.  
  
"Will you need to ride them?" she asked, the smile suddenly shadowed.  
  
"Maybe. I'll make sure there's people around. You can watch too, make sure I don't break my fool neck." He allowed himself to smile back, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time.  
  
"Well, I'll get some tea – or some coffee? You want something?"  
  
Yes, he wanted something. But he couldn't say what he wanted, not out loud. "Coffee would be good. I want to stay awake a while longer."  
  
"All right." She stood and brushed out her skirt with her hand. "Then you can tell me a bit about yourself? You know just about everything there is to know about me."  
  
"Oh, I think there's more to you than you're saying," he ventured, well aware he was going to have to give some truths about himself, if he was going to keep her friendship. He spoke to her receding back but she looked over her shoulder, her smile gone.  
  
"Maybe just a few things," she said. "You get some rest. Maybe some food would be better than coffee?"  
  
"Whatever you say, ma'am."  
  
"I do believe you're making fun of me, Frank T."  
  
He grinned. "Just getting my own back for you callin' me old."  
  
She snorted and yet, as she turned away, he could have sworn she was blushing.  
  
He stretched out his legs and re-settled his arm in the cloth sling around his neck. The hollowness he had felt earlier was receding. He was still physically hungry but something inside him was being fed.  
  
As it turned out, he waited a good hour for her to come back, and he was impatient and a little disconcerted when Mr.Watson finally appeared.  
  
"You still here, son?" he said. "Lilian said to tell you she was real sorry, but she was tired and went to her room. She's been up a couple of nights now."  
  
He was deeply disappointed; she had not come back even to tell him she was going to sleep and he had almost made up his mind to talk to her about some of things that were on his mind. "Her cough troublin' her?"  
  
"Yeah – that was it. Her cough. You want somethin' to eat? I got eggs, and some soup and biscuits, maybe something like that?"  
  
Frank nodded and shuffled forward, preparing to stand. "That'd be good. I thought I'd look at the horses, tomorrow – pick one for her, if that's all right with you?" He stood, fought light-headedness for a moment, then headed off after the old man, more than ready for something to eat.  
  
He didn't see her again that evening. He heard her, though, somewhere in the other wing of the ranch house, and he wanted to go and – well, go and help her some way, return the favour she had done him. Instead, he sat in the great room, talking with the family, reading, listening for her.  
  
He retired early, back to his comfortable bed. He was very quickly getting used to being cared for. Sleep came quickly.  
  
Once he'd been assisted to get up, he went immediately to see if Lilian was dressed and ready to go look at horses. He wanted to see if Hidalgo missed him, wanted to give his horse some care, maybe brush him down if he could. It was beginning to dawn on him that being temporarily without the use of his right arm might be a boon, not a disaster. Time to stop and think, regroup, that's what he needed.  
  
She was not in the great room but he could hear chatter from the kitchen and found her there, talking to Mrs.Watson and helping to cook something which smelled real good. Hunger like no hunger he'd felt since he was a small child drove him towards the stove.  
  
"Go sit down, Frank. Bacon, eggs and biscuits. Coffee in the pot." She smiled at him and though she looked pale, she also looked rested and there was more strength in her voice.  
  
"Mornin'," he said to both ladies, pushing a hand back through his hair and going to sit at the wooden table which stood in the window. A fresh gingham tablecloth, good quality crockery and cutlery and a large cup marked his place. There was butter on the table, too, and preserves, and his stomach rumbled so loud, he reckoned he'd be waking anyone in the house still asleep.  
  
He poured himself some coffee, carefully, and managed not to spill a drop. It was lifeblood, strong and black, and he gave it his undivided attention for a couple of minutes.  
  
Then the food appeared. Lilian sat down with him to eat, her plate half- filled, his piled with good home cooked fare.  
  
"You sure you give me enough here?" he laughed.  
  
"Your stomach was frightening the horses. Had to keep it quiet somehow," she quipped back, her mouth twitching into a curious little smile.  
  
"I'd better eat then, hadn't I?"  
  
She nodded, poured herself some coffee and put some preserves on the fresh- baked biscuit. She wasn't coughing and he was glad of it.  
  
They ate quietly, with Mrs. Watson there, making a pie with some preserved peaches. The bacon and eggs were satisfying but the pie made his mouth water.  
  
"You're goin' to spoil me, ladies."  
  
"That's the general idea," said Lil, picking up her plate and carrying it to the sink. She had barely eaten anything. He looked at her suspiciously, but then went back to clearing his own plate. It felt so good to be full, though his pants were still loose on him. He patted his stomach with a contented sigh. "I sure am grateful, ma'am," he said, this time talking to Mrs.Watson.  
  
"Have you had enough, Mr.Hopkins? More coffee?"  
  
He shook his head, glancing outside. It was sunny and calm – no wind blowing the grasses, no frost or snow on the ground. "Thank you, but I think I ought to be doing somethin' about earnin' my keep. Is it warm enough out there, for Lilian, I mean?"  
  
Lilian had left the kitchen and he wanted to ask Mrs.Watson some questions before she came back.  
  
"She'll borrow my fur coat – she'll be fine. Make sure she stands in the lee of the barn. I swear, that girl has no idea how to look after herself. You – you look after her, you hear me? She may have made a few mistakes but she's picked a good man this time. You are a good man, aren't you, Mr.Hopkins?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes. The implications of what the kindly old lady was saying was not lost on him. He was not ready to look as far forward as she was, and looking back he saw nothing that did him any favours.  
  
"I try, ma'am."  
  
"Can't ask for more than that. Now, I think she's trying to find your coat. I put it by the fire in the great room to warm but she may not think of looking there. You want to go give her a hand?"  
  
Feeling somewhat like a small boy who'd been patted on the backside and sent to play, he went through into the great room.  
  
She had his coat in her hands and was stroking the soft fur of the collar. She stopped as soon as he walked in, then held out the coat for him.  
  
"You think you could hold it for me?" He held out his left hand and she slipped the sleeve up over his arm and brought the coat round his back, walking round him as she did so. Then she brought the edges of the coat together. She looked up at him, holding his coat and grinning. She looked so small. He felt he could have pulled the coat round the two of them.  
  
"Frank? How d'you fasten this? There's no buttons or ties or anything."  
  
"Belt. I think it's over there," he said, pointing to a hat stand by the door.  
  
She fetched the wide belt and cinched it round his waist. She had to fasten it looser than he would have done normally, to accommodate his arm, but it was comfortable enough. He walked to the door and picked up his hat, settling that firmly on his unruly hair. She followed along after him, grabbing a fur coat that was there.  
  
They went out together and stood on the top step. She had fastened her borrowed coat, which fell below the split skirt she was wearing, and had jammed a little fur cap over her brown hair. She coughed, but cold air did that to you, and she looked bright-eyed and happy to him. He held out his good arm and she took it, hanging on and keeping up easily with his slow pace. They didn't say anything. It was enough.  
  
The three horses were bunched together, standing in a pool of sunshine. His practised eye picked out the stubborn one, the pretty one – and, by elimination, the one who looked like it could be her friend. He wanted to see Hidalgo but he wanted a first look at the horses, to begin to see what they were made of.  
  
He went to stand right by the fence and took off his hat, hooshing the horses gently into a walk. He noted musculature, legs, the power in the hindquarters, the depth of the chest and the length of the back in each horse, making mental notes. They all looked like sound, decent animals, not much to choose between them in conformation. So it would be down to temperament, and he needed to ride them, or let her ride them, to get a feel for that.  
  
One of the horses, the friendliest, came over to stand by them as they both rested against the corral fence. Lilian put her hand through the fence and rubbed the horse's nose.  
  
"Don't choose yet," he warned. "Friendly don't mean a thing if you need a steady horse. Might make 'em easier to catch when you want them saddled, though." He looked down at her, watching her pet the horse, and knew she'd half made up her mind already. But he waited. He had to be sure. It was his responsibility now, to pick the right one for her.  
  
Away to his right, far off across the river, a lone figure trotted towards the ranch house. He squinted against the sun, trying to see who it might be. In this country, it paid to know who was around.  
  
"What are looking at?" she asked, pulling back from the horse.  
  
"Him," he said, nodding. The stranger was splashing a large, black horse across the river. They waited while he disappeared under the bluff.  
  
"Let's go see Hidalgo, Frank. He's not here to see either of us."  
  
But somehow he had to find out who the stranger was. The man rode up over the edge of the bluff and trotted over to them.  
  
He was a big man, tall, easy in the saddle and confident in his manner. Frank stood waiting, feeling uneasy with no right hand to protect himself and her.  
  
"You the foreman?" the man said, his voice a deep baritone.  
  
"Nope," Frank said, stepping forward, shielding Lil from the stranger.  
  
"Work here?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Who owns this spread?"  
  
"Mr.Watson. Up at the house." Frank took hold of the reins in his left hand, holding them firmly as the man dismounted. "I'll stable your horse for you if you want to go talk to him."  
  
"Thanks," said the man, "but I ain't stayin' long." He took the reins from Frank. He was taller by a couple of inches, and bigger built, and his eyes were hard and unfriendly. Frank didn't back down.  
  
"Cold, ain't it? Your horse come aways – wouldn't be no trouble to take him in there. I'm goin' to see to my horse – could easy give yours a rub down."  
  
The man looked at him. He hadn't introduced himself but then, neither had Frank. He took a moment to make his decision. "All right. Business should take no more than an hour. Be obliged if he was saddled and ready then."  
  
"No trouble."  
  
One more long, steady look passed between them. Then the man turned away and headed for the house.  
  
Frank started to lead the black to the barn, Lilian following.  
  
"You know that man?" he asked.  
  
"No. Never seen him before. Don't like the look of him, either."  
  
"Me neither. Come on, let's get this boy inside. Maybe he can tell us something about the man who owns him."  
  
Inside the barn it was a little warmer, and Hidalgo nickered his greeting immediately. But it was Lilian who had all his attention. She was coughing again, smiling apologetically as she tried to catch her breath, tears starting in her eyes.  
  
He quickly led the black horse into a stall and went back to her. He wrapped his arm round her and held her as her breathing calmed. She wiped her face.  
  
"Stupid cough," she grumbled. "I wanted it to be better this morning. I wanted this morning to be perfect." She leaned against him, her forehead pressed against his chest. She muttered something else but it was muffled in his coat.  
  
He held her, knowing she was upset and tired, and he chose not to do more than just hold her until she looked up at him. The little fur cap framed a face which was flushed and damp with tears. She overwhelmed his defences without even trying. There was no other option but to kiss her. 


	9. Ch 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Frank, or any of the characters from the film "Hidalgo". I am just giving him a few story, with a few new friends. I hope that's all right with everyone . . .

Part 9

"Honey," Frank ventured, holding Lilian close. "I have to check this guy's horse." It wasn't a very romantic thing to say but he had to know something more about the stranger.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I know you do. But do you have to, right this minute?" She was warm, and close to him, and he felt comfortable with her there. But yes, he had to. He loosened his hold on her and she stepped back, uncomplaining.

"Give me just a minute. I'll be right back."

"I'll keep watch." She stepped backwards to the door. "But I'm counting you down on that minute."

"Yes, Ma'am." He saluted her, making her eyes dance and her grin widen, and he had to use all his considerable self-discipline not to go to her immediately. He pulled on the reins of the large, black horse and tied him off in a stall.

He was a big, well-muscled gelding, and he had been expertly cared for. He'd come a fair way, judging by the mud splatters and the sweat on him, and Frank felt down each of his legs, checking for any problems. He'd taken note of the animal's gait, is this the right word? I'm not sure!!! and he seemed sound. The horse was marked, a running B brand on his flank, matching the mark on the saddlebags.

For a moment, Frank felt bad about opening them. But his instincts told him something was wrong about the man – the way his gun was strapped, or the way he rode or walked or looked. If someone had asked him, he couldn't have pinned down his impression to any one thing. But something was wrong and he felt he ought to help out Mr. Watson in any way he could. He unbuckled one saddlebag and glanced inside. Spare shirt, tinder box, knife and fork, tin plate and cup. Nothing else. The man was travelling, but travelling light.

He patted the horse's rump and moved around to the other side. He had just started to ease the first strap through its buckle when he heard a quiet, "Frank," from Lilian. He did up the buckle again, grabbed a currycomb and began to work it down the horse's leg. The stranger was back, a whole lot sooner than he'd expected.

"That's all right, son – I'll take him now. You given him anything to eat?"

"Not yet," said Frank, trying not to bridle at the casual use of the patronising name. "You didn't give me much time."

"No. Didn't take as long as I thought. Well, I guess he can wait till I get to town." The stranger untied his horse and led him out, leaving Frank standing with the curry comb in his hand.

He passed Lilian, who had to stand back out of the way of the horse, and Frank heard, "Ma'am," as the man walked away. Frank threw down the brush and walked quickly to her side. In the bright sunshine, the stranger wheeled his horse, mounted and kneed him into a walk.

"Be seein' you both, I reckon," the man said, grinning at them. He didn't say anything else as he rode away.

Lilian leaned into Frank. "Should we go back to the house, make sure everything's all right?" she asked. "Or can I meet your horse first?" She smiled, and he knew which option he was meant to choose.

"You didn't trust him either?" he said, taking up the currycomb again and going over to Hidalgo. "Yeah, you're a good boy, ain't you," he soothed, running his fingers down his horse's nose. Hidalgo nodded his head. Frank laughed softly, glancing at Lilian, who was leaning back against the stall railing. She grinned back.

"He always agree with you?"

"Nah. Mostly we just get along best we can, him puttin' up with my faults, me puttin' up with his."

"Like a marr – like old friends, huh?" She laughed at what she had been going to say, then coughed, then laughed again, until her eyes were watering.

He looked at her, a slow smile quirking the corner of his mouth and his eyes shining. Hidalgo took advantage of his loss of attention and grabbed his hat, only to drop it casually onto the stable floor.

"Is he saying," she managed to croak out after her fit of laughing and coughing, "that you ought to take your hat off to a lady?"

"Ah, ma'am, you know, he could be. I could try askin' him." He reached down, picked up his hat and jammed it back on his head. "Quit it, now, you hear?" he told his horse. "I ain't got time for games today. You want me to look stupid in front of Miss Lilian?" He began to examine his horse, feeling down the legs and over the horse's back, running an expert hand over his muscles and sinews, looking for tell-tale signs of heat or discomfort. "Someone bin lookin' after you, little brother? You're gettin' fat and sassy."

Lilian came closer, bending to get some oats out of a bin then holding them in her open hand.

"Watch out, ma'am," Frank warned. "He'll nip ya if he don't take a likin' to ya." He watched carefully as Hidalgo nibbled delicately at the oats.

She seemed to be holding her breath and he realised he was too, sympathetically.

"Does this mean he likes me?" she asked.

"He likes his oats," he dead-panned, wanting to hear her laugh again. She didn't disappoint him but she didn't respond in words to his joke.

They played with Hidalgo for a while, both fussing over him, grooming him, and getting to know each other with his presence to make it easier. They had to stop, just once or twice, when their hands happened to touch and they had to smile at each other, or she had to cough and he had to pull her close to comfort her. Finally, she reminded him they ought to go to the house to check all was well and he noticed she looked cold, even with the hat and coat. He backed Hidalgo into his stall, though the horse danced his annoyance.

"I'll ride you tomorrow, 'Dalgo. Not today. You just settle down, now."

Hidalgo allowed himself to be settled.

Frank brushed off his coat. He had his back to Lil, but he felt her standing there. She was watching him. Not long before, he would have warned anyone off if they had been watching his back. Now he wanted her to be there and that feeling scared him a little.

"Frank?"

He lowered his head but was unable to turn around.

"Frank? What's wrong?" She sounded worried but didn't step any closer to him.

He took a deep breath, knowing his next words were important. "Lilian – how d'you feel 'bout – what d'you think 'bout . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence for the life of him.

At last she stepped closer, and he felt her hands on his shoulders. "I think it's time you stopped turning away from me, Frank."

Maybe there was a lot more she could have said, but it was enough, and then she was there close to him, as close as she could be with his busted arm in the way and they were happy in each other's company for a little while. Holding her was sweet, kissing her sweeter, and his heart hurt as he tried to let his new feelings wash out the stain of the last months. It was forgotten, it was all forgotten there in the security of their small, shared world.

They had to go back to the house eventually. They had been interrupted by two hands, who came in to tend to the other horses. It was Lil who had stepped away, and he noticed their badly-suppressed grins. He couldn't do much to save her from their stares, except gather her back to him and lead her to the house.

It was a little warmer in the bright sunlight, and the world seemed more golden, less washed-out and pallid than it had done.

"You know," she said faintly, as they walked up to the steps. "You know we're always going to get looks like that. There's no one around here who doesn't know my past."

"They don't know nothin' about you," he replied firmly. "You remember that. Life starts here, now, for us. Maybe we was trapped into some things neither of us wanted but that was before." In the sea of doubts in which he had been drowning, this was his straw – this spark of a relationship, this urging inside him to join with another, to be with another.

She looked up at him, still flushed, and nodded. Something dark between them had gone and the sunlight was blinding. They walked into the house together.

Inside, it was warm and shady. They both took off their hats, and Lil went in search of Mr. Watson. Frank walked through into the great room, shrugged off his coat and hung it back near the fire. He heard quiet voices and Lil and Mr. Watson came in, Lil's arm linked through Mr. Watson's, causing Frank a moment's pause. He nodded his greeting to the old man.

"Frank," Mr. Watson said. "You met Eagleton, then?"

"Yup. Met his horse, too, but I didn't find out much. Who is he?" Frank sat on the couch and stretched out his legs, glad to be resting again. He did not have much in the way of reserves of strength.

"Oh – a rival. In business. He's bought the next ranch downriver but it doesn't pay like this one does. Maybe because he doesn't have much of an eye for the business. Haven't you seen him in town, Lilian?"

"No – not yet. Now you say the name, though, I have heard a couple of people mention him."

"He wants to expand and buy me out. I don't feel inclined to move - this is where I intend to be when I die." Mr. Watson sat down heavily, leaving Lilian standing. She still held the fur coat in her hands. Frank was more than gratified when she came to sit next to him, setting the coat on the arm of the couch. But it was clouding his thoughts, this attraction to her, and he was barely listening as Mr. Watson told him something more about Eagleton.

Lilian looked him in the eye. "Frank? Do you want something to eat? It's past noon."

It would be like this. Life with her could be – like this, with her watching out for him, and him taking care of her. It could be so good, to come in from work with the horses on his own place, to find her there with his dinner ready and that smile, that look in her eyes. She stood but paused before she left.

"We'll be careful, Charlie. Really, we will."

Be careful about what? Frank was lost but felt too foolish about that to question either of them.

"Okay. I'll get back to my paperwork. You two take it easy this afternoon – you both look peaked still. Going out in the cold don't do my old bones any good and you need to keep warm, both of you. Looks like it might snow." And, grumbling and warning by turns, the old man left them and retreated through a door Frank guessed led into his office.

Frank waited for a moment, then Lil came to stand so close as he sat that he felt her knees against his.

"You didn't hear a word he said, did you?" she said quietly. "Frank – don't get lost now. It's important you hear this. Eagleton – we have to watch out for him. He's a danger. You hear me?"

He nodded. "I hear. Eagleton. Man with the horse. Okay."

She smiled and took his good hand in hers. "Food. You need lots of good food. You're skinnier 'n' me."

He let himself be pulled to his feet and marshalled towards the kitchen and all thoughts of Eagleton dropped away from him.

That afternoon, after a good meal, he slept again, though he hadn't wanted to. He had been planning to look over Lil's prospective horses again, maybe get someone to ride them round for him, while she got some rest. In the end, though, his need for sleep overwhelmed his good intentions and it was four o'clock before he woke again. Mr. Watson had been right about the snow. It fell, just a light flurry, graying the room.

The house had good indoor plumbing, and he made use of the facilities before he went in search of someone. Lilian was nowhere to be found in rooms he felt he could enter but he did find Mrs. Watson in the kitchen. He avoided talking to her for too long. In his current state of mind he was afraid he'd be asking the old lady for her advice about where to get married before he'd had a chance to ask Lilian what she thought about the matter. He knew it was too soon, but then, when was too soon? If you knew, just knew, then wasn't now the right time? As he returned to the great room, he snorted at his impatience.

He sat down again, taking the first book that came to hand and attempting to read it.

Lilian announced her entrance with a husky, "Hi there. Do you need feeding again?"

"No ma'am. These pants are staying up better than they've done in a while." His hands were shaking and his heart was beating a little too fast. He was afraid of saying something stupid.

"Yes? Well – I think I have to rest my throat." In that short time, her voice had become a whisper. "I'll have to write everything down."

"You come and sit here. Let me wait on you awhile. Lilian . . ."

"Yeah? Whatever it is, Frank T., spit it out so I can reply before I lose my voice altogether."

He couldn't do it. It was too soon. He'd startle her or worse, drive her away. He shook his head. "Nothin'. Nothin' important."

Did she look disappointed? Instead of coming to sit next to him, she chose a large leather chair by the fire and curled up in it, her head propped on her hand, and her elbow resting on the arm of the chair. He could not guess what she was thinking.

"Ma'am," he said, suddenly shy of her again. "You need to get to bed. Least until you got that bad throat cured."

She looked at him. "I need – I need you to say something, Frank."

His heart pounded. He felt as if he had been taking steps towards a precipice all day, and he was reluctant now to go further than he had. There was too much holding him back to make that free, bold reach for her that he knew she was inviting him to make. But how to hold back, without once again hurting her feelings. He searched for the right words and finally found something to fill the gaping silence.

"Lilian – you and me – we have to come to an – understanding." He was leaning forward, his elbow on his knee, his hand reaching out for her, though she stayed where she was.

"We have, Frank. We have. We had that, oh, I don't know when it started, a long time ago."

He knew what she meant. They had always understood each other, since the beginning of their time together, however short or long that had been. He knew she wanted him to say more but she was already beginning to cough again, a wretched, choking cough which held all her attention. It wasn't fair on her to keep her from her rest for something he couldn't say that day. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.

"Well, I wasn't plannin', I mean, I hadn't thought I would find someone. Lilian – please, you need to get well. When you're well, maybe then, we can think of the future. A future – for both of us." There, he'd said that much and it was as far as he was going. He wiped his hand across his mouth, trying to ease the temptation to be more specific and watching her closely.

To his enormous relief she nodded, coughed again, and began to uncurl from the chair. She smiled and came over to him, to stand as she had stood before. He put his arm round the back of her knees and they stayed like that a moment.

"I'll see you in the morning," she whispered.  
  
He let her go, watching as she left the room, and, as the fire burned and the snow petered out, remembered how it felt to have her and hold her. He had not given his promise, nor had she given hers, but they were nearly there. Nearly a new life. It was a precious moment and, as he took himself off to his bed later that evening, it was with a hope he had not felt in a very long time.


	10. Ch 10

Disclaimer: As ever, no copyright infringement is intended. I have borrowed a character and added some of my own. I make no money from this venture.

Part 10

When he woke, he couldn't immediately pinpoint what had disturbed him. He lit a candle to dispel the darkness and glanced at his pocket watch. Two thirty in the morning. It was a bad time to wake and he groaned inwardly at the thought of waiting in the quiet for sleep.

Then he heard it, the sound that had wakened him. Her cough, a noise that came to him because he hadn't been able to shut his door on her, not quite. He sat up and was out of bed before he could think of consequences, or good sense, or propriety. In bare feet and nightshirt he hurried along the corridor, the candle flickering in his hand and up the walls. He had no difficulty in finding her. Her door, too, was open, and an oil lamp warmed the corner of the room.

She sat upright in the large, double bed, her legs drawn up and a shawl round her shoulders. Her eyes, full of the misery of being so sick, met his as he stood there and wondered what to do next. She coughed again, trying to take a breath between each convulsion and barely succeeding.

"Honey," he said, "there should be someone sittin' up with you." He didn't know what else to say or do.

She could hardly speak. Each breath was an effort. She looked at him again and he felt the pull to go to her and do something for her.

"Where is everyone?" It was his last defence against – against whatever he was afraid of doing. He had slept in the same bed with her before but now it was different, so very different.

"I sent them away," she gasped. He moved to her, set his candle on the nightstand and climbed up awkwardly next to her on the mattress.

"Come here, honey," he said quietly, putting his arm round her shoulder. She eased over to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He felt her fever-hot forehead with his hand. "You been takin' anythin' for this?"

She shook her head. He reached behind her to the nightstand and picked up a couple of bottles at random. There was nothing there which could help her, he knew that. He knew what could, too, but he didn't have the herbs he'd need. He remembered his mother pounding the leaves and roots, making a tea to ease his own cough when he'd been nine or so. They'd worked, too. Just such a cough. He held her and reassured her as she tried to clear her throat.

She sank back, exhausted. He stroked her hair then shifted to ease his back. She looked at him and smiled faintly. She tried to speak again but he shook his head.

"It's okay, you just rest. I know, I ain't decent. You mind if I get a comforter? Least then you don't have to look at my cold feet." As soon as he said it, he regretted his words, but she didn't seem to notice.

He arranged her pillows for her and went in search of a comforter, finding one on the back of the rocker. He trailed it back across the room and made the bed dip as he climbed back in next to her. The comforter covered his feet and legs and he settled back, pulling her close again.

"Feel any better?" he said after a while, when her coughing subsided.

"One night," she gasped. "Usually. Just one night, I'm bad like this."

"You had this before?" he asked.

"Twice. Never with help." She leaned back and looked up at him. "Feel safer than usual."

He settled back a little himself then began to hum a tune that came into his head from some old memory. She twisted round and laid one hand on his chest. He stopped humming.

"Don't stop," she said. "Like to hear you." Her breath hitched.

He began again, remembering how it felt to be held like that and soothed. Her breathing eased a little, became longer and steadier, and he knew that she was dozing. He sat still, the tune running quietly through his brain. She was warm against him. He tried as hard as he could not to let his thoughts run into a future he was less and less sure they could have. He didn't fear that she would die. She had lived through such an illness before. But he was afraid he could not offer her such security for long. The guilt that gnawed at him was still strong. How could he set that aside and give himself to her?

Her breaths slowed again, into the deep, rhythmic pushes of sleep. It was the best thing for her but even as he held her, he missed her presence. He needed her there, to return his hold on her. Perhaps it was too much to ask, to be freed of the past by another person. Maybe it was something he had to do for himself, by himself.

He dozed. The house was hushed and dark, and he began to dream. The faces of his family, his people, gunned down by scared soldiers, sick themselves with the fear and horror of what they were doing. The fires washed over the dirty tents, maddened by the wind. Over it all, flakes drifting, the snow coming, and the beauty and horror drove Frank to the brink of what he could bear. He woke with heart pounding, eyes burning with tears, and found the woman leaning into him was dreaming too, and wild with them, moving, crying out with the remains of her voice, her words garbled until she began to say his name and then, as he came more awake, to push him away, to fight him, to hurt him as she shoved and panicked.

He moved back, his arm hurting, trying to reassure her and wake her gently, but she was only saying one word, over and over. "No!"

Suddenly there was more light, and people in the room, and someone had a gun, pointed at him, someone was shouting at him to leave Lilian alone, to back off, to get out of the room. He wanted to stay, more than anything else in his life, to stay with her and help her through whatever the dream was. He fought them, but then the gun was levelled at him and his attention was focussed on that, a single point, life or death. He backed off, protesting.

"I ain't done nothin'! I wouldn't hurt her – no – I was – I wasn't doin' nothin'!"

But the gun was steady, the man holding it watching him, guiding him to leave, until Frank found himself outside the door, breathing hard, his emotions fogging his judgement.

"Go to your room, boy." The voice cut through that fog. "Get packed up. Go to the bunkhouse. Go on. I'll deal with you in the morning."

Still Frank stood, hearing Lilian's hysterical cries, soon overtaken by that racking cough. He was desperate to reach her but the old man stood his ground, holding the gun on him and Frank knew he would not get back into her room. He backed away further.

"Okay, okay, I'm goin'. I'll go to the barn."

"Go where you want, boy, but leave my house!"

Frank turned, anger burning through him, the fog descending again. He went to his room, dressed as best he could and packed away his meagre belongings in the saddle bags which had been hung over the back of the chair. He stamped his feet into his boots and pulled his coat around him. As the anger died he was filled with a keen despair. He didn't understand what had happened. He had been doing nothing to her except what he had done most of the night – holding her, comforting her, simply being close to her. Now that was all gone and he ached with the pain of it, the loss of something that had become the most important thing in his life.

He glanced out of the window. It was still dark and it was snowing, very lightly, just a few flakes now and then. He threw his gunbelt over his shoulder then carefully removed his sling. He draped the saddlebags over his broken arm, aware there was more pain there again but it was the least of his worries. Without looking back he left his room, his small piece of heaven, and went outside.

Facing the bunkhouse was beyond him. The hands would draw their own conclusions about why he'd been thrown out of the house, and he couldn't face their questions, their insinuations, their looks. He trudged to the barn, making his way carefully in the dark and lighting a lantern as soon as he could locate one. Hidalgo shifted in his stall, looking up slowly and then pricking his ears as Frank went to him.

"Looks like it's just you an' me again, Little Brother. Should never have dreamed of anythin' else. Pure foolishness."

He rubbed Hidalgo's nose and wiped his own.

"Can't see it though, what I did wrong. I'll never see it."

He had an idea to saddle up and leave right then but it was too dark, and too dangerous for Hidalgo. His horse hadn't done anything, no sense in hurting him for the mistakes of humans. He leaned back against the stall railings and then slid down, curling in on himself and shutting out the world. It was too painful to face and he sat, trying to control himself, while his horse dozed beside him.

A flash of movement caught his eye. By the door, a figure, standing and looking at the house. The dimmest grey light outlined him. A big man, tall, just standing.

Frank pulled himself together, sitting as still as he could. Even sitting, he could have been seen if the man cared to glance into the barn. Then the figure was gone, stepping quickly out of view, but Frank had caught a signal, a wave of the hand which would tell someone else to move forward.

Frank stood slowly and patted Hidalgo, settling him. "Hush there, horse – don't make a noise. Something ain't right out there and I'm goin' to see what it is." He took his gun out of his belt and paced silently to the door of the barn, trying to work his legs to increase circulation and shake off the fuzziness in his mind. He needed to be absolutely clear-headed.

Outside, in the freezing morning air, he had to crouch down to avoid catching anyone's attention. Three men were clearly visible, one with a lit torch in his hand, the other carrying a can. They were close to the house and unaware of him. Fuel was poured against the house and before Frank could do anything, the torch had been thrown, and the hungry flames were already eating up the side of the house, throwing light out across the yard. Frank stood, firing at them, with enough light to see them but too away far to do much good. The three men ducked and began to fire in his direction, forcing him down on his stomach in the snow. He fired and one yelped and dropped his weapon. The other two paused then grabbed their companion and ran, low and fast, to the road leading away from the house.

Frank ran to the bunkhouse to rouse the hands and get the fire bell ringing. Then he made for the house. The flames were catching more of the wall, sparks now drifting upwards. The fire began to roar, but he could do nothing about that – if the house was gone, it was gone. But those inside – why were they not outside yet? What was happening to them? He ran for the main door and choked immediately on hot, dense smoke that was crawling round him, climbing the walls and reaching for him with clawing fingers.

He turned to the right, the source of the smoke, and at last saw someone, Mrs. Watson, a coat over her nightdress and terror in her eyes.

"Frank!" she screamed. "We can't wake Lilian! Get someone to carry her out!"

His heart contracted. There was no time to fetch anyone. He ran to Mrs. Watson and grabbed her. "Is she alive?" he gasped, coughing now from the smoke.

"I don't know – get help! You can't lift her!"

"Go outside. I'll get her." He didn't know how, but somehow he would get her. The wall beside him burst into flame and Mrs. Watson screamed, then ran for her life along the corridor.

Frank jumped back, startled by the sudden breakthrough of the fire. He was too close and he backed off, trying to head towards Lilian's room but balked by hot flames. Head down, covered by his arm, he began to ease along the wall. He kicked burning cinders out of his path and was closing in on the room when the wall bellied inwards and showered him with sparks and fiery splinters.

He had to make it. A few more steps. He burst into the room and nearly tripped over Mr. Watson, who lay full length on the floor. Lilian was there on the bed, twisted onto her side, smoke all around her. She was as still as if turned to stone.

"Lilian!" he shouted, agonised, and ran to her. He grasped her hand, still fever-hot and damp. "Lilian!"

She didn't respond, her head lolling back, her hair across her face. He picked her up, his broken arm no help so he threw her over his shoulder. There was only one way out now – the window. He set her down again on the floor, leaning against the wall, and opened it. Then he went back for the old man, dragging him as best he could to the window. His eyes were burning, his coat blackened with cinder burns, but he felt nothing, only the clear sense that he must get both of them out.

"This way, Frank!" someone shouted from outside the window. "Pass 'em through!"

There was no dignity in it, only a mad scramble for life. He sat Lilian on the windowsill and then pushed her out into the cold. Two ranch hands took her weight. Then the old man. With breath harder and harder to gasp into his lungs, Frank knew he was fading. He hauled and pushed, and the burden of the man who had threatened him with death hours before was taken from him. But that was as far as he could go. He watched them take the old man and lay him outside on the grass. Then he couldn't breathe any more and fell, half in, half out of the room, and lost the battle to remain awake, the enormous sound of the fire fading away as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	11. Ch 11

Disclaimer – no, I don't own any of these characters except the ones I invented. I am writing purely for pleasure and, I hope, others' entertainment. No money being made from this ...

Chapter 11

He was dreaming.

That was the only explanation.

He was being pulled along and his legs were agony as his shins ran over a hard, sharp edge.

Then he was falling, his back hot and then his stomach and chest suddenly wet.

A hot breath on his neck made him reach up to try and fend off whoever was so close to him. His chest began to feel cold, very cold, but his back was still hot. Burning. He did the only thing he could think to do. He whistled for his horse.

He struggled to come to some understanding of what was happening. He opened his eyes and saw whiteness – snow, stamped into mud but still freezing. That was his snatched impression before he had to close his eyes again when a blanket was thrown over him and then he was being thumped, causing sudden hot points of contact all over his back. Finally the blanket was taken away and he was rolled onto his back, his broken arm painfully hitting the ground.

Lilian. Where was she? He looked around frantically in the growing dawn light, calling her name until someone came to stand by him.

"Settle down, mister. She's been taken to the bunkhouse. Ya don't think we'd leave her out here with you, do ya? Not after what ya did to her."

Before Frank could protest, the man walked away. He needed to get up, to find Lilian, to sort out whatever the ranch hand had meant. He needed to be with her, that, above all else. He began to look around for help but the voices that had been all around him faded. He wondered if he was alone.

He wasn't.

The hot breaths were back and he found himself staring up into his horse's muzzle. He squinted up at the horse, quietly studying the patches and splodges of brown and white in his horse's coat as he drifted, numb. Hidalgo stood by him quietly.

"Well now, Little Brother," Frank said, finding a small measure of comfort in his mustang's presence.

Hidalgo moved a little closer and nudged Frank's shoulder.

"All right. I guess I can get up now." And, by rolling onto his side, he managed to get to his knees at least, though the numbness was wearing off, and pain began to report his hurts.

Hidalgo got hold of the back of his coat and tugged but Frank could get no further. He sat back on his haunches and looked around.

That's when he saw the guy with the gun, someone he didn't know, standing nearby with a rifle cradled in his arms.

"Hi," Frank said, far from being himself. "What happened? Where is everyone?"

The man nodded to the house. Frank looked and saw smoke drifting out of the open window.

"Fire. You don't know nothin' about it?" the man drawled, a half-smile telling Frank the words were ironic.

"I remember seein' three men," Frank started to say. He tried again to get up but the other's man's harsh voice stopped him.

"You just stay right there, 'less'n you want more holes in your hide than is natural. And send that horse of yours off – don't know how that half-breed horse got out the barn in the first place."

"He's pure mustang," said Frank quietly, reaching up and rubbing Hidalgo's muzzle.

"What you say?" said the ranch hand, easing his rifle into his hands. "You send him away now, you hear?"

"Little Brother – he wants you to go. I reckon you'd better, too. There, now." Frank pushed at Hidalgo but the horse wouldn't leave him. "I'm sorry – he's used ta havin' his own way. He ain't doin' any harm."

The man stopped forward and began to flail his arms at Hidalgo. "Go on, horse! Useless critter! Go on with you!"

Hidalgo snorted at him, then, as the man persisted in trying to assert his authority, pawed the ground. Frank knew the next stage of Hidalgo's posturing and dragged himself to his feet.

"Whoa, 'Dalgo," he said, "You're liable to make things worse for me. Whoa, I said!"

Hidalgo stood by him, his nostrils flared, and grumbled at Frank.

"I know, I know. Now, mister," Frank said, looking at the man with the rifle. He had to get moving, give himself some sort of a chance to – to do something other than submit to these people. "Mind if I put my horse back where he was? There's no telling what he'd do if I don't settle him back in his stall."

"Go right ahead, cowboy. Just remember I got this rifle trained on yer all the way."

Frank nodded. He tried to get his long legs to co-operate and they did, after a fashion, though once he stumbled and fell against Hidalgo.

"Don't try nothin'," his guard said, taking a step or two closer.

"I got a broken arm, no supplies and Hidalgo doesn't have a saddle. What am I likely to try, mister? Riding off into the snow bareback?" Frank smiled at the man, who stepped back in the face of Frank's truths.

He shrugged. "No tellin' what a man like you'd do, given a chance."

"A man like me? Mister, you don't know what you're talkin' about." Frank trudged through the snow, feeling the cold more and more through his wet clothes and his burnt jacket. He had had the jacket through a number of winters and wondered for a moment if it was salvageable. Hidalgo followed along behind him like the big dog of his Sioux name. He headed to the barn, watching men move purposefully about, carrying lumber and hosepipes, tarps and ropes. He got some curious glances but no-one spoke to him.

Inside the barn he led Hidalgo to his stall and told him to stay there.

"You don't tie him up?"

"I do. But he can untie himself if he wants."

The man snorted. "Reg'lar trick horse, ain't he. Wonder how he knew to come round the back of the house."

"He can hear. He ain't stupid." Frank patted Hidalgo's flank, glad that someone there still accepted him uncritically. "Any chance of me gettin' my clothes dry?"

"I reckon. Want you alive for the sheriff tomorrow. Tom!" the man called, looking away for a moment. Frank toyed with the idea of jumping on Hidalgo and riding for it, but dismissed the idea as plain foolishness. He'd live a few hours in the cold with no provisions and no clothes to speak of. Being half-Lakota didn't make him invulnerable.

"Tom – go get that chain, and the padlock. I'm gonna put Mister Hopkins in the bunkhouse and I don't want him ta decide to take a walk while we fix up the house."

Tom, a six-foot blond bruiser, set down the lumber he was carrying and wandered over. "Sure, Walt. You know who else they put in the bunk house?"

"Yeah. 'Nother good reason for keepin' this one chained, I reckon."

It was all Frank could do not to shout his frustration at them. But he tried to be a patient man. His moment would come.

It was a good many degrees warmer in the bunkhouse. Frank was shoved down towards the stove, where a fire burned hot. He glanced round. It was a standard layout for a bunkhouse but each man had a separate bed – oddly, not a bunk in sight. There was a kitchen, a good stove and lockers for the men, plus a table and some comfortable-looking chairs. At the end of the room a couple of blankets slung over a rope served to give Lilian some privacy. Frank wanted to go to her but he restrained himself. Keeping quiet seemed to the best way to disarm the man guarding him.

"Sit there, cowboy. I'm gonna tie ya up with this rope fer now," the man said, indicating the bed closest to the stove. "Ya can steam there fer a while until we get the chain."

With his hands tied, then another rope tying him to the bed, Frank could find no comfortable way to sit, or lie or even stand. His arm was miserably sore and he was damp and dispirited. A drink would have been welcome.

Then Tom came in at the run, not carrying the dreaded chain but shouting, "Fire! Come on, Walt – she's flared up again! Leave him – he's not plannin' on leavin', I reckon."

Walt gave Frank a glare. "You go and we'll follow ya, get ya back. Don't want scum like you on this good earth."

He stalked off after Tom.

So he was unguarded, with Lilian not too far, and he wondered whether to call to her. But he didn't quite know where he stood with her and if she was sleeping, then she needed her rest. He sat and stretched his legs as far as he could and watched as the steam did begin to rise from his pants. He tried hard not to think of anything much.

"Hey there, cowboy."

He looked up, startled. There in front of him stood Lilian, clad in nightgown and coat, and giving him a smile that transformed everything.

"Hey yourself," he ventured, "ma'am."

"You want me to help you out of those wet clothes again?" The smile became a mischievous grin. Her voice was still hoarse but she looked okay, at least, she looked a great deal better than she had.

"Think mebbe you should get these ropes off me first," he said, trying to hold up his hands and failing.

She knelt down in front of him. "Oh, Frank – I – what a mess!" She reached over to his ropes and began to tug at them, but they were tied tight and she couldn't budge them. She sat back on her heels. "I'll fetch a knife. You have to get out of here, Frank."

He knew she was right but he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay there and be warm and comfortable and safe for a little while. He wanted to be there with her.

"I know," he said, watching her as she rather unsteadily made her way to the kitchen. She found a knife and brought it back, cutting his bonds carefully. "Thanks, ma'am," he said, trying to ease his arm into his coat.

Then he heard her catch her breath.

"Frank! Your coat – your hair!" She stretched up and ran her hand over the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. He put his hand there automatically, trying to feel what she saw, and in the process touched her. He pulled back quickly and could not meet her eyes.

She helped him out of his coat. It was scorched and burnt through in two or three places, and the fur trim was blackened around the neck.

"I'm just going to get a pair of scissors," she said, and the tremble in her voice gave away her emotions.

He tried to settle but without his coat even the heat from the fire couldn't stop him feeling chilly. His wet clothes had to come off and be dried. He just couldn't go anyway until they were dry. He began to unbutton his shirt.

She came back with the scissors and then sat behind him. He felt her, ticklish at his neck, and she began to cut his hair, showing him as she did how it had frizzed and burnt as the cinders had fallen on him. They spoke to each other, exchanges of little consequence to anyone but themselves, until she leaned against his back, reaching round him and hugging him. He could feel her shaking with sobs but didn't move. He knew she didn't want him to see her.

He let her be for a few minutes, until she had stilled.

"Lilian?" he said, waiting quietly. "Lilian?"

She leaned back, her warmth gone from him. "Let's get this shirt off," was all she said, her voice muffled and even huskier than it had been. She helped him take off the shirt then turned her back as he wrestled his pants off and slipped under a blanket, curling up on the bed. He kept his underclothes on.

Taking the damp clothes she hung them on a chair back close to the fire then perched herself sideways on another chair.

"They tell you why they're keeping you tied up?" she asked. She looked sad and happy all at once and he longed for her to sit closer.

"Said I must have set the fire," he said carefully, avoiding the other charge of assault.

Lilian had no such compunction. "I remember dreaming – I remember waking myself up and – and pushing you away. You want to know what I was dreaming?"

"You don't have to explain nothin'. I know it weren't me you were mad at."

"No – no, it wasn't. I tried to tell Mr.Watson but he said I was bein' foolish. And that you'd set the fire because you were hoping to get to his money and get his own back. I don't recognise him any more, Frank. I don't know this man."

"It's all right. I'll clear my name, given a chance. He was scared – he ain't thinkin' clearly. He loves you like a daughter, I reckon." Frank stared at the wooden floor, faltering when he thought he had gone too far with her.

"Yes. He does, I guess. Then he was only protectin' me. How are you goin' to clear your name?"

In truth, he had no idea. He had some vague notion of riding off on Hidalgo and finding evidence of some kind but he wasn't thinking too clearly, not with her so close, and the heat from the fire and not sleeping most of the previous night.

She pulled a wry face. "My hero," she said unexpectedly. "You saved my life."

"You – you saved mine," he said almost inaudibly. Then he ploughed on, as if nothing had been said. "Now, hadn't you better tie me back up? And how am I going to explain how I got myself undressed?"

"I'll explain. And no, I won't tie you up again. If you give me your word you won't leave here. Not until your clothes are dry and you've rested up."

"I can do that. Give my word. But what if ..."

She stood and stepped right up close to him. "What if? What if? What if I ..." She put her hand to his face and touched his cheek. "Let's just be, right now, and not think any more what ifs." She pulled her chair close to him and sat down, drawing her coat around her.

He didn't want to consider what ifs, either. He wanted her there, in his bed, beside him. If the only way that could happen was if he went out there, into the big, cold world to clear his name, that's what he would have to do.

The morning slipped by. They drank coffee together and they talked, until Frank found himself telling her about his long distance rides, how he'd outsmarted and outridden a fancy dude in a fur coat with a horse called Senator. Its tail all tied up neat, looking its best, and the guy had been too. Still lost. He grinned at the thought of what had followed. Lilian laughed too, sharing the precious morning hours with him until it was not safe for her to stay any more.

Then he had to let her go. Just before she disappeared behind the blankets she looked at him She didn't say anything but she smiled. All the sadness had gone and Frank knew he had taken it from her. It felt like the best thing he had ever done.

As the hands trailed in for food around midday, Frank pretended to be asleep. There were conversations all around him, but about the fire, the house and the family, not about him. He felt invisible, until Walt came in.

"How'd you get yourself untied?" was the first question. Frank opened his eyes and was about to answer when Lilian reappeared, dressed, brown hair down but quietly purposeful.

"Leave him be," she said, and Walt stepped back. "Let the sheriff deal with him tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," Walt said, and hurried away to the table to grab some food.

Lilian winked at Frank and then went back into her den. No one else disturbed either of them.

At two o'clock that afternoon, just after the last man trailed out into the cold again from his meal, Lilian helped Frank dress and gave him saddlebags full of provisions, two extra blankets and a long, deep kiss. They were his own saddlebags, too, and he was happy to have them back.

A little after two thirty, with the sun sparkling off the thin layer of snow, Frank, leading Hidalgo, waved his hand, and a small figure waved back from the window at the back of the bunkhouse. No one else saw him leave.


	12. Ch 12

Disclaimer: The character, Frank T Hopkins, does not belong to me. The others are my own invention. I make no money whatever from this writing.

Lost Chapter 12

It felt odd, after all those days in company, to be back out in the wild, open landscape with no one to talk to beside Hidalgo.

After the – the massacre – he had been glad to be on his own. His name was well known. If he had gone into a saloon and been recognised, then someone would have bought him a drink, inquired after his health and one thing would have led to another. Always ending at that moment, when he'd handed over an innocuous-looking leather wallet with army orders held inside it.

Now, he missed someone who was in sympathy with the way he thought, someone he could talk to. His girl. As he pushed Hidalgo into a canter, he indulged himself in a dream of having left his own cabin, where he and she lived. He would be riding out to see to the stock and at the end of the day, he would ride home and there she would be. It was a good dream.

He really only had one plan in mind and if it didn't work, there was no back-up. He had a good name, at least other people thought he did, and he had the papers to prove who he was in his saddlebags. A sheriff might be willing to let him have his say, away from Mr. Watson and the rest of them. He could ride into town tonight and see him, or he could catch him the next morning. He reasoned that it was better to stay away from everyone other than the sheriff so, after an hour's riding, he found himself a sheltered hollow near the river and made camp. He'd crossed the river twice, and taken Hidalgo over a couple of well-used roads, doubling back once, so he was reasonably sure he couldn't be followed.

He let Hidalgo roam without saddle or headstall, trusting his Little Brother to return when he whistled. With a fire going and coffee on the boil, it was almost like home. He searched through the saddlebags to see what had been packed. Coffee, beans, jerky, bacon – even enough tobacco to make a cigarette, which he smoked once he had rather awkwardly rolled it. A spare shirt was in there too, and something in a small leather case. Binoculars. He held them in his strong, large hands and contemplated them. They were the highest quality of workmanship and therefore clearly Mr. Watson's.

He tried to think when Lilian could have packed his saddlebags. She had been carried to the bunkhouse and he had no idea how long that had been before he came to. But she would surely not have been grabbing his saddlebags and stuffing them full of good things while she was there. And when he'd been taken there himself and tied up, well, they'd spent nearly all the morning together. It was a puzzle, but he was grateful. He even had two blankets more than his usual quota, and his bedroll.

Yeah, almost like home.

It was a long, cold, dark night. He slept fitfully, finding the ground a sore trial after all his soft living. Hidalgo stood nearby, dozing. In the end, Frank opened his eyes and looked up at the moon, nearly full, casting the land into shadows and highlights. He could not stop his mind from working, planning, yearning for a future here, maybe not a place of his own but a foreman's job. With – with a boss who respected him, and let him go ride his races, while his wife waited for him.

He sighed. He was beginning to believe his own dreams.

He was up at first light, knowing that breaking camp and saddling up was going to be a little more of problem than usual. But his arm felt all right, his hand worked fine and he got the jobs done. He had to find himself a good spot, where he could see and not be seen, not too far from the ranch, so that could be sure he was on the road the sheriff would take. He knew a few sheriffs. They came in all types. He just hoped this one was honest.

He finally found the right spot, near a bend in the road and with a couple of folds in the land, and a couple of trees to shield him. He ground tied Hidalgo and eased forward, glad the snow which had fallen the day before was already beginning to melt away in the sunlight. He took his binoculars and wondered idly if he was going to be accused of stealing them, too.

First, a buggy, black hood in place. The doctor. About time they got the doctor to her. For a moment his stomach lurched. What if she was worse? Annoyed with the situation he shifted position and reined back an urge to go check on her. He would have to trust to some higher power to look after her. She had seemed so well yesterday morning, so much better than she had been. Just a check-up, that's what it would be.

Then, about half an hour later, a man on a roan horse, trotting along as if he was entirely sure of himself. That had to be him. Frank tried to check for a badge but even the fine binoculars would not give him that information. Maybe it was time for his luck to change.

He mounted up and eased Hidalgo downslope.

"Howdy," Frank said, reining in his mustang some yards away from the man on horseback, who had stopped some moments before.

"Howdy," said the man, sitting quite relaxed in the saddle, hand near his coat. He had a badge pinned to the thick jacket he was wearing. "You in need of something?"

"Yeah, sheriff. I'm in need of you. Mind if I come up a little closer?"

"No, I don't mind. What's the problem?"

The two men faced each other warily. "I think I'm the problem. You goin' up to the Watson place?" Frank tried to appear relaxed too but his heart was pounding. A lot was riding on this conversation.

"I am. Been called to take in a prisoner. Committed rape and arson, so I hear." The man used his knuckle to tidy his large black moustache. In any other man it would have seemed like a nervous gesture. On him, it seemed like confidence, even arrogance.

"Well, sheriff – I'm your prisoner. Only I didn't commit either of them crimes, and I'm your only witness to the ones who committed arson."

The sheriff regarded him for a minute. "Hey, son – don't I know you? That horse looks familiar."

Frank raised his eyebrows at the abrupt turn in the conversation. "This here's Hidalgo, sheriff. And my name's ..."

"Frank T. Hopkins! Saw you last year – beat those big horses to the finishing post and barely broke sweat. Well, if that don't beat all! Jack Fischer, Sheriff Jack Fischer – glad to meet ya!" And the man beamed, clearly delighted, and held out a hand that Frank gladly shook. A friend in need, as his father had said.

"Pleased to meet ya," said Frank, remembering times in the past when his hand had been shaken so many times it had ached for a couple of days afterwards.

"Now, what's all this about rape and arson? Don't sound like your style at all, Frank. Should I be holding you at gunpoint and takin' you back to jail?"

"If I had my druthers, I'd say not, but that's up to you."

"Well – if you start from the beginning and keep it all straight, just as it happened, I guess I can at least hear ya out. Go on, son, tell me what's been goin' on up there."

So the two men sat, Frank telling his story and Sheriff Fischer listening, and nodding every now and again, and throwing in questions once or twice. When Frank had finished he knew that he had told the truth as he saw it. Now it was up to the man with the badge.

"Well, now, let me see. So if I went and talked to Miss O'Donnell first, got her side of the story, she'd be tellin' me you helped her through a difficult illness and then saved her life."

"I guess," said Frank, unwilling to appear in any way heroic. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And she'd be telling me you and she are sweethearts?" Sheriff Fischer looked at Frank, who had not spelled out that part of the story very clearly.

Frank nodded, not able to bring himself to say the words.

"But Mr. Watson, he'd be sayin' somethin' about takin' you in, tending to your arm, givin' you free run of the house and so on, and then takin' advantage of a single woman who was like a daughter to him."

Again Frank nodded. He was beginning to feel very exposed on a road which led straight to the Watson place.

"I reckon you have a problem, then. Old Man Watson, he's as rich as Croesus, eccentric as they come and he's not a man to be crossed. He can buy and sell sheriffs like me if he's a mind to. But his wife now – that's a different proposition. Tell ya what I'll do." The sheriff nodded as if he had made up his mind. "You go back up on that hillside and wait there for me. I'll go talk to a few people, try and get some quiet words with Miss O'Donnell and Mrs. Watson, and I'll take a look for any tracks that might still be there, though I reckon the ground'll be pretty chewed up by now. Then I'll be back. If you go wanderin' off I'll take it you're guilty of everythin' wrong that's happened round here recently and come after you with a posse from the Watson ranch. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Frank, relieved beyond measure at the fairness of the bargain. He couldn't make up the sheriff's mind for him but at least he had a fighting chance now. "So long, Sheriff." He gathered Hidalgo and squeezed his knees gently. He heard the sheriff's farewell as he urged his horse back up the slope. When he was settled again he took out the binoculars and watched the sheriff trotting his roan up the track. He was soon joined by a couple of men who had come from the direction of the ranch, and all three pushed forward, disappearing quickly from view.

Frank shifted his position until he was practically back where he had fallen off the cliff days – or was it weeks? – ago. There was enough cover for him but he had to leave Hidalgo and walk ahead of him. Binoculars in hand he was just able to make out Mr. Watson greeting the sheriff then taking him to show him the east wing of the ranch house, now blackened and boarded up. The damage was not as extensive as it might have been but it was bad enough.

Frank wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The air was cold, even in the bright sunshine, and he blew on his hands to warm them. He felt chilled even with an extra blanket round his shoulders. He settled himself cross-legged and prepared for a long wait.

It was nearly two hours before he saw the sheriff mount up again. Several people were crowding him but he was keeping them back somehow, then he wheeled his roan and set off back towards town. Frank stood, easing the ache in his legs and stretching his back before heading back to Hidalgo, who was tugging at the leaves on a stunted tree.

"Well, Little Brother – either this is gonna work out fine and I'm gonna stay out of prison or you're going to be spendin' more time in a stable while they work out what to do with me. Guess I have to be glad they ain't accused me of horse-stealin'."

He rode back to the place where he had first met with the sheriff and waited for the man to catch him up.

At least he wasn't holding a gun on him. That had to be a good sign.

"Sheriff," Frank said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.

"Mr.Hopkins," said the sheriff, his face betraying nothing. "I guess I won't be needin' my jail keys today. I don't care what that old man says, I don't believe you did it, any of it. Course I had to tell him I'd be out to catch you and bring you in to face 'the full weight of the law' I think he said. But, if it's okay with you, I'd like to swing around in back of that place and see if we can pick up a clear trail. I'm guessing it might go back to Eagleton's place but I could be wrong. Depends on the quality of the help he's hiring these days, I suppose. If they're stupid they'll take us right to Eagleton. If they're smart, we're gonna have a harder time of it."

"Did you see Lil – Miss O'Donnell?" The question was out of Frank's mouth before he really thought anything of it.

The sheriff smiled at him. "Good-lookin' girl, ain't she? A mite pale for my taste but she's feisty."

Frank nodded, flooded with pleasure at hearing this praise for his woman. "Got a mind of her own," he offered, grinning.

"Yeah. Had a message to give you from her – now, what did she say? Somethin' about ..."

Frank knew he was being teased and rode it out patiently.

"Oh yeah – somethin' about you'd better hurry up because she still hasn't chosen her horse."

Frank grinned. "She sayin' I'm gonna get a chance to do that?"

"Yeah. I think so. Now – we'd better get goin' before one of those ranch hands gets a sight of us. They seem real anxious to have you strung up."

"I kinda got the impression they didn't like me," he said, smiling broadly now. He didn't care any longer to cover the relief he was feeling.

"I think they're jealous, Frank."

Frank let Hidalgo fall in behind the sheriff's horse and pondered that thought for a moment, then focused all his attention on the job in hand. He kept quiet and let the man work. He knew the landscape and was taking them by a way Frank had not been, west of the ranch, down over the river then up again.

An hour later, and the sheriff was pulling up just short of a roadway.

"Right, man. See what you can see that way – I'll track down this way a while."

Frank nodded, turning Hidalgo then jumping down lightly and leading his horse.

There were several signs in the road. A wheeled vehicle, buckboard probably, well loaded and bogging down a couple of times in the mud. Two horses pulling it, and their prints made it difficult to see what else was there. But then, off to one side, the clear tracks of two horses followed by one more. Travelling fast, too. And, just as he was about to call to the sheriff, a bright, clear drop of red, and another.

"Sheriff!" he called, heart beating fast in case his luck wouldn't continue to hold out.

"Yeah – I got it! Three men, one laggin' behind and dropping blood fast. Reckon we got three stupid ones. The Eagleton place's two miles that way."

Frank nearly whooped with pleasure. His luck, so fickle in the last few days seemed to be running his way again at last. He was about to jump back on Hidalgo when the sheriff stopped him.

"Oh no, Frank. Eagleton knows you. If his boys have gone high-tailing it straight back to him he'll be trying to cover his tracks best he can. You're my star witness and you ain't goin' anywhere near him. Neither am I, not alone, at least. You are goin' into town, get a couple of deputies signed on and bring them back here. That's the only way I'll do this."

Frank was about to protest when their hand was forced. A large, well-muscled, beautifully cared-for black horse, carrying a large, imposing figure, trotted down the road, seemingly to greet them. And when a rifle cracked nearby, Frank and the sheriff split, running for some sort of cover. Frank was all too aware he was being driven as one shot then another dogged his steps. A couple of minutes later he was hunkered down amongst sparse cover, unable to see the sheriff and aware that Eagleton was heading in his direction.

Seemed like his luck had run out again. All thoughts of clearing his name and a happy future were banished to the back of his mind. Surviving – long years of practice at that would now be his only defence.


	13. Ch 13

Disclaimer: Frank and Hidalgo do not not belong to me, and I make no money whatever from this story.

Lost chapter 13

There was no real trick to firing with your left hand. Frank could do it well enough, though his right hand draw was slicker. But when push came to shove he was accurate enough with his left hand. Re-loading was going to be another matter.

He fired two spaced shots and made Eagleton step back a pace or two.

"Don't come no further, mister," Frank shouted, looking round for Sheriff Fischer. At least he was higher up than Eagleton, and had some sort of cover.

"I don't intend to, cowboy. You need to come down here. Your sheriff's bleeding like a stuck pig. You want him to live, you come down here."

That, Frank quickly decided, would be suicide. Then the sheriff would be dead and he would be too, which was hardly a step in the right direction.

He kept quiet and shuffled slowly to his right, keeping low and out of sight and ignoring Eagleton's further threats to kill the sheriff. By slipping a little further down he could see Fischer, who was sprawled on his back in the dirt but was already moving. Eagleton didn't seem to have a clear shot at him but was walking slowly to where Frank had last been.

The sheriff shook his head and looked round, spotting Frank almost immediately. Frank signalled 'stay down' and 'keep quiet' and considered his options. He needed Eagleton alive and preferably unharmed. He also needed him willing to confess, and maybe another couple of witnesses. All of which was a tall order in the circumstances.

He watched as Fischer took off his neckerchief and dabbed at a wound on his forehead, the one that had removed him from the action for a couple of minutes. If they'd only had time to make some sort of plan.

How many shots had Eagleton fired? Frank thought hard and counted four. Or possibly three. He grabbed a branch and shook it, hard, and was rewarded with another bullet, which was near enough for him to pull back his hand as if he'd been snake bit. Did the man have two left, or three? And what the hell was he doing just standing there?

"You need me alive, don't you, cowboy. And I need you dead. Interesting situation," Eagleton said, looking around him.

Frank studied the terrain carefully, ignoring the man. He had few options. But one more opened up when he saw Hidalgo, obediently ground tied but alert, ears pricked. Frank needed a distraction, and there it was. If he could use it without risking injury to his horse.

Frank readied himself. It was awkward, running unbalanced, but it would have to work. He stood, fired once and got Eagleton's attention right away. Then Frank whistled the 'come here' signal to Hidalgo and ran as fast as he could straight at Eagleton.

In a single moment his fate was balanced on the edge of a knife. It only needed him to be fractionally in the wrong place, Hidalgo to be a second late, the sheriff to interfere. In the time it took to try to put himself in the right place, Frank was aware of three things: one, that Hidalgo had run straight for him, shouldering past Eagleton and nearly throwing him to the ground; two, that Eagleton had fired twice and then once more, wildly, and three, that he was now looking at Eagleton, who lay on his back on the ground, his eyes closed. Spots of blood were decorating his white shirt in a pattern that Frank suddenly found fascinating. He was brought back to the present when the sheriff grabbed his arm and started shouting at him.

"Frank! He's had enough! Frank!"

Only then did Frank fully realise that he was kneeling on Eagleton's chest, his gun pressed up against Eagleton's face, and the man had his eyes closed, probably because he was scared Frank was going to pull the trigger.

Frank eased his weight off the man who, big as he was, hadn't been able to stand up to horse and master.

"Where's he hit?" Frank asked, looking again at the red spots still appearing on Eagleton's shirt.

"Huh? Let me see," the sheriff said, still dabbing at his own head wound. Frank allowed him to move in close and check the man who lay still on the cold ground. Frank eased back further, removing Eagleton's gun and throwing it away before he reached for Hidalgo's trailing reins.

"Whoa there, pardner. You did real good, little brother, real good." He stood and began to check Hidalgo for any damage but found him whole and untroubled.

"I can't see nothin' wrong with him," the sheriff reported, puzzled. "I'll handcuff him and we'll take him with us to his ranch – see what we can find there. You want me to reload for ya?" The sheriff was busy handcuffing Eagleton, who remained silent.

"Yeah, thanks," Frank said, feeling the fight drain away from him. "You think they'll still be there?"

"Frank," the sheriff said. "You feelin' okay?"

"Yeah," he answered, preparing to mount Hidalgo.

"You know there's blood on your shirt?"

"There is?" he said, startled, looking down. He hadn't felt anything wrong until that moment. With his arm still cradled across his chest it was difficult to see anything.

The sheriff was too busy with Eagleton to help out. Frank felt around then found a sore place in his side, right above the waist of his pants. His shirt was warm and damp, and his hand came away blotched with red.

"Damn," he said. Then, "Lil's goin' to kill me."

So it took a little longer than it might otherwise have done to get their little party organised. But manage they did, with Eagleton tied to his horse, the sheriff sporting a neckerchief tied round his forehead and Frank grimly holding his own neckerchief to the graze in his side and trying to juggle the reins at the same time. He was feeling light-headed but it didn't seem to him that he was losing much blood now. Maybe he could get away with keeping it quiet. He was picturing the scene, him standing there admitting he'd not been able to dodge trouble, her fighting mad, pulling off his shirt and then threading a large needle. It was an embarrassing yet somehow reassuring image, and he comforted himself with it as he tried to adjust to Hidalgo's trot.

"You gettin' on all right there, Frank?" said the sheriff, keeping a close eye on his prisoner.

"I always thought my horse had an easy gait," Frank said ruefully. "Beginning to think I need me another form of transport." He shifted in the saddle again, causing Hidalgo to change lead foot. "Ow, horse – you gotta stop doin' that!" Frank grumbled but Hidalgo took no notice of him.

Up ahead a straggle of buildings, all looking new and somewhat temporary, told Frank they had reached Eagleton's ranch. He was glad the sheriff was in charge. He was feeling decidedly poorly, though he managed to make his presence felt with a gun reloaded by the sheriff held steadily in his left hand. He tried to focus, and saw two ranch hands go into one of the huts and then re-appear, pushing another guy in front of them.

He couldn't be this lucky. He just couldn't be. He was watching Eagleton's own men being handed to the sheriff without an argument. He listened to what the sheriff was being told. The guys who were handing over two shame-faced men were there before, the ranch hands Eagleton had taken on with the ranch, and they had been none too happy with the way they'd been treated. It took them about ten seconds to decide which side they were on.

"Glad to see that back of ya, Mister Eagleton," one of the hands shouted at the big man on his black horse. Eagleton scowled. "Ain't no amount of money going to hold me back from testifyin' against ya!"

Frank was tired, more tired than he cared to admit even to himself. And here they were, a long string of men on horses, riding at long last back onto Mr Watson's land. Sheriff Fischer had handled the whole situation real well, and they had plenty of help now. There were four prisoners, the three men Frank had seen setting the fire, one with Frank's bullethole in him, and Eagleton, who was sitting as tall in the saddle as he could.

They rode right up to the ranch house, one wing of which seemed alive with slapping tarps and men sawing and hammering, repairing the damage from a fire that now seemed years past. He began to look for Lilian the moment they were close enough – yes, there she was, and she was waving and running towards him, then standing right by his boot, looking up at him and seeing the blood as she pulled back his coat. She grimaced but she didn't tell him off.

"Hey," she said softly. "You bin bein' heroic again there, Frank?"

"Nah. Hidalgo did good, though," Frank replied, wondering when they'd let him sit down somewhere more comfortable. "And the sheriff. I only managed to be in the wrong place again." He liked it when she put her hand on his leg.

"Got the sheriff on your side, eh? Smart move, Frank T."

"I thought so. You think the old man'll listen to him? He didn't do much listenin' to me. Or you."

"I hope so. If he don't, we're both goin' a long way from here."

"Both?"

"Yeah. Both. That all right with you?"

"That's all right with me," Frank confirmed with a small nod of the head. "Yup. Would rather stay here, though." The world was getting a little muzzy. A nice steady chair. A drink of something – yeah, that'd be good. What were they waiting for?

"Okay. You goin' to stay up there, or you plannin' to fall off? Because if you are, I'll just get out of your way."

Frank considered what to say. He looked down at Lilian, whose half-amused, half-concerned look decided him.

"I reckon I'd better get off. If the old man ain't goin' to shoot me if I do, that is."

"I think you're safe. You've gone awful pale. Come on, cowboy, get out of that saddle."

With a groan he gathered himself and manoeuvred round. It wasn't easy, with an aching arm and a sore side, not to mention the burns across his shoulders.

Lilian echoed his thoughts. "Well – that's three, Frank. Maybe you're due for a change now."

"Three?"

"Yeah, arm, back, now this. I think you're going to need some more bed rest."

"You think I need undressin' again, ma'am?" He hardly knew what he was saying, and managed only a half-hearted grin at his effort to make a joke. He now stood, and she was very close. He wanted to wrap his coat round both of them and for everyone else to go away.

He heard her, "Looks like it," before he felt hands turn him, then steer him, supporting him on both sides until he wondered if he was being held captive again. He searched behind him for Lilian, his agitation confusing him further, but she was right there, following along, and she smiled at him so that he knew she had everything under control.

Back in the bunkhouse he went, and was led this time behind the curtained-off area and eased onto the bed. Mrs Watson was there and she smiled at him, and Frank knew it was she who had helped Lilian pack a bag for him, so that he would survive out in the wild. Then Lil was helping him take off his boots, his coat and easing his shirt away from his wound until she made him suck in his breath.

"It's okay, Frank, I'll go and get some water and soak this off you. Boys, you get his pants off him and lay him down, all right?"

She was gone and he surrendered himself again. He felt as if his life, his recent life, consisted mainly of giving over control to other people and, odd though it was, it didn't worry him.

The momentary embarrassment over, he was lying on cool sheets and it was absolute bliss. He closed his eyes and began to drift until he felt a hand on his forehead, then a warm cloth being used to soak his shirt away from his side. He heard some murmured instructions then the fiery, brief agony as his wound was sewn up. Four stitches. Not too bad. When it was done, he was helped to sit and a bandage was wrapped round him.

"All done, Frank T. You get some sleep now."

Nothing to do now but obey the lady. So he did.


	14. Ch 14

Disclaimer - as before, the character, Frank, is not my creation. I do not profit by writing this, except in finding people who also enjoyed the character and hoping to entertain them.

A/N Very sorry about the extended delay. Real life was a bit too real for a while there-- but things should improve now and I hope the next part will be posted soon.

Thanks so much for the kind reviews - when I couldn't write they helped to remind me to go back to Frank as soon as I could!

Lost chapter 14

He slept well, undisturbed, until he became aware that someone was wiping his forehead and gently brushing his hair from his face. He turned towards the hand then woke. It was so dark he could barely see her but he knew it was her immediately.

"Hello, cowboy," came her soft, happy voice. "Wondered if you was goin' to wake up. Seemed like you'd lost a lot of blood. Doc's happy with you, though."

"Lilian," he said sleepily, trying to find some words in the haze that was his brain. There was something very important he wanted to say to her.

"Yeah?" The soothing, cool cloth was back, and her voice was soothing, too.

"You want to – maybe we could – I could get you a ring. If I sell a coupla things, I could get you a real nice ring."

It had been on his mind to say this but maybe not just as soon as he'd woken up. He began to worry as soon as she went very quiet. He opened his eyes. She was kneeling on the floor and looking right at him. He had her full attention.

"Oh." She put her hand to her mouth. He was aware just how hard his heart was working even though he was lying still. "Yes. Yes – please. Oh, Frank." She put a hand out and caught hold of his. "I don't think I could leave you now. You'd only run into more trouble and then who would fix you up again?"

He shuffled back to the edge of the bed, leaving a space for her and she came to lie beside him, on top of the blankets but very close. They talked, very quietly, about small things, a few plans, a couple of ideas about the ring and how they might not be able to marry for quite a while. No pastor, she explained, not close, anyway. They'd have to travel. He nodded his agreement. When his arm was healed. When the weather was better. And how was she? Still coughing? She nodded. Better than it was, though. A couple of weeks would see her right.

And so they talked, sharing and planning and smiling at each other, until they both fell asleep.

She left him before dawn. His wife-to-be. He was scared and elated, feeling free and responsible, both at the same time. It was almost too much happiness to contain. He lay back and waited for light. He knew she was likely not to return until he'd spoken to Mr. Watson and he wanted to see Sheriff Fischer. He was sore but he felt as if he could face the world again, be part of it and take his full place in its life again.

One of the men came to help him get up. He had no sign of fever and only felt a little tired but he was not allowed to do more than dress and then move to a chair close to the fire. Someone gave him some coffee and a plate of eggs. He nodded his thanks and gave his attention to the good food.

Mr. Watson came in and pulled a chair close to the fire. Frank took little notice of him to start with, other than a quick handshake. He had no liking for what the man had done, but he wasn't about to dislike the man for his error of judgement. He was not expecting an apology and he didn't get one.

After a few moments, Mr. Watson cleared his throat. "Lilian tells me you're planning to marry."

"Yeah. Yeah – we are. Soon as we can get to somewhere that has a preacher." Frank knew he was grinning.

Watson nodded, having apparently ticked off the first item on his mental list. He moved quickly on to the next subject. "Sheriff Fischer did a good job. He's taking Eagleton for trial and some of my people are going with him, just to be sure," said Watson, leaning forward and lacing his hands together.

"He did a good job," Frank agreed, then drank the last of his coffee. "Eagleton did a bad one."

"Underestimated the situation, I guess."

"I guess," Frank agreed, still grinning. "Repairs going all right?" He settled back, easing his arm out of its sling and resting it on the arm of his chair.

"Should be there in a week. Taking the chance to fit the new heating system we've had in a barn for a month or so. Ill wind."

"Wood-fired?"

"Coal. Going to haul it in from the railhead. Should work out all right. Make a right smart house for the family."

"Yeah." Family. The word meant something new to Frank now.

"I was figurin', maybe, I need someone to be foreman on this ranch now. Had me a good man but he left to set up his own place." Watson at last looked at him. The corners of his mouth were turned up, but you couldn't exactly say he was smiling.

"Seems like a good idea. Someone who knows horses," Frank threw in.

"I thought so."

"Someone used to working with other men. Someone people could trust," Frank said, though he knew it was a slightly low blow.

"Yes. That'd be about it. Maybe a family man." Watson came closer to smiling. "You know someone like that?"

"I might."

Frank was hired. Foreman. To work with horses. And to have his own house. A fixer-upper, and enough money to make it his own place. Frank wondered whether his carpentry skills were up to the challenge.

He shook hands with Watson and stood, ready to go and look for the sheriff.

"Sit down, Frank," Watson said. "I'll ask Fischer to come and see you. You think you might like something of a celebration, you and Lilian? Maybe when we open up the house again?"

"Okay," Frank nodded. "Just so long as you don't ask me to do the cookin'."

Watson smiled at long last. "Welcome to the Watson Ranch, Frank T.Hopkins. Fischer tells me you're a cross-country man, won some big races? You gonna need time off to do that, then?"

"I think I'll be stayin' close to home for a while, sir," Frank said. "See what she says after that. I don't think I'll want to be away from her."

Watson nodded. "I'll leave you to your coffee. Fischer was outside, takin' a look at the evidence. I'll ask him to come see you."

"Well now, Mr.Hopkins. I didn't see you as a rockin' chair man, somehow."

"I'm under strict orders. I'm doin' as I've been told."

Fischer settled in the chair Watson had been sitting in. "I hear I need to congratulate you. I have to say, I kinda overlooked her, or I'd have been there myself, knocking at her door. Glad to hear you're staying, too."

"I've fallen on my feet, that's for sure," Frank said, settling himself more comfortably in the chair. "Have you to thank for a lot of that. Seems like one step over the last few days, and Lilian and me, well, we wouldn't have made it."

"You're welcome. Without you made that play with your horse, I doubt I'd be here now settin' with you."

"Well, then, we're even. I'll buy you a drink next time I'm town, and you can buy me one when I'm wed."

Fischer nodded. He was twisting his hat in his hands. "Well now, I think I'd better be getting' Eagleton into that jail. I'll send you word about the trial. I reckon we might need you, and we might not. Up to the judge. I have all the relevant facts. A written statement could be enough."

"I'll dictate something to Lilian for ya. Can't do too much writin' just yet." Frank raised his arm.

"No, no, I guess not." Fischer stood. "Well, it's good to know ya, Frank. See you next week sometime. I'll drop by for that statement."

Frank nodded and watched the sheriff turn and walk away. It was done – he was here, and he was whole, pretty much. He drank the last of his coffee, settled himself in his chair and began to plan, until she came back to sit and plan with him.

Over the next two weeks, he was hardly away from her at all. There was a good deal to do while he continued his recovery from his hurts, but his heart was in his work and he relished the chance to walk a little further each day, see more of the place and the stock and discuss future plans with Mr. Watson. Through it all, Lilian was there, making notes for him, discussing details of management with him and, each evening, talking with him, playing cards, drinking coffee, getting settled and comfortable.

He followed Watson's map to their house sometime in the third week when he was exercising Hidalgo and himself. Lilian had gone into town to arrange for the sale of the hotel. Make a right smart piece of cash, too, she said, enough for the pretty things she wanted to make the place nice. Things he wouldn't know about, she'd said, smiling up at him.

Don't want the place cluttered up, that'd been his response. She had pouted and then he'd been forced, oh so reluctantly, to make up with her.

So he had saddled up Hidalgo with only a little help, and put on his coat, patched now with a couple of neatly sewn pieces of material across his shoulders. Watson had described the place to him, something about it being their old house, a couple of miles westward, in a shallow valley with good shelter and a view Frank'd like. He climbed on Hidalgo and kneed his little brother forward.

"You're rounder than you were, bronco. We got to work you some, I reckon. And don't go pullin' too hard – I need to get some work in my legs too."

Hidalgo trotted out, ears pricked, and it felt good to be out there in the wild plain, looking over land that was his responsibility now. He already knew where all the horses were, knew the stallions by name and some of the mares by their colours. The sky was blue, the sun was high and the only traces of snow were in the shadows, where the sun was slow to reach them or quick to leave them in the morning.

And then, over one more rise, and there it was – the house he could have if he wanted it. Just a little wooden house with a couple of outbuildings. But his imagination placed her on the porch, and his improvements all round. Even her curtains at the windows, he could see those.

Of course, it was nothing like that yet. He pushed open the door and inspected the inside. Good fireplace. Nice little kitchen – not much there but room for him to add what might be needed. A place to put the rocking chair that he had somehow made his own. He could see her there too, maybe a year or two down the line, and he had his own ideas about what she might be doing. A little one of their own. Maybe.

The bedroom just off the sitting room. Too small, he was thinking and he worked for a few minutes looking round to see where he could tear down a wall and add some more room with ruining the look of the place. Then he sat himself down on the porch and just looked.

Hidalgo had wandered a little way from the house to find some good grazing, and was cropping the fresh grass. Beyond him, a stream fed a tiny lake before it spilled on down over the grassland and into the river. It was quiet there, though not completely. As he sat there, he began to hear the wind stirring the grass and the call of a bird, disturbed by Hidalgo's movements. A few trees wouldn't go amiss. And a garden, near the stream so that it could be irrigated easily. There were already flowers, the pale, cupped blooms of pasque flowers, growing here and there. He'd pick a few for her, when he brought her here, after their marriage. Would the stream flow in the summer? Would there be enough breeze here to make the house comfortable then? Maybe he should build higher up? He paced around the property, thinking, thinking, dreaming, planning and then thinking again over his plans. It might be all right. The next step was to bring her here.

But he could not think of that, not until he had the place looking more homely. A bit a furniture. Cleaning it some. Checking the well water. But not too much, in case she didn't like it. She'd feel bad, turning it down, if he'd done too much. A couple of days with some help. She'd be gone that long. He'd do it.


	15. Ch 15

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. I make no money from writing this.

A/N There is a warning with this scene, but it's not unexpected.

Lost Chapter 15

Her horse was a sweetheart. Frank had gone to some trouble to pick her out of the three most likely new mounts, and he had gradually come to realise that the pretty black filly would be Lilian's horse. She called her Edie, though Lilian would not tell him exactly why – but her eyes had twinkled when she had told him the name. Some old memory she would tell him about some day.

The horse was placid, amenable and steady, and Hidalgo seemed to take to her, look after her even, so Edie was given a new saddle and bridle, and Frank did his best to cure Lil of a few bad riding habits she had acquired. At least she looked more relaxed than she had on her previous horse, but she was never going to be a natural horsewoman.

"I don't think like a horse," she said crossly, jumping down one afternoon after an hour's ride.

"You sayin' I do?" Frank said, sitting easily on Hidalgo's back.

"Well – I guess you're just a bit cleverer than a horse. And I trust you. So maybe you don't exactly think like one. But you sure do understand them."

Frank patted Hidalgo's neck and the horse shook his head in appreciation. "He understands me, at least." He climbed down and went to stand in front of his horse. He had something awkward to say, and he felt easier standing there, where he didn't have to look Lilian in the eye. He was glad that, for once, there was no one else around.

"Lilian?" He cleared his throat. "Lilian? I was wonderin'…"

She took Edie's leading rein and came to stand next to him. "You were wonderin' what?"

"Whether you wanted to ride out this evenin', take a look at the house. I've been workin' on it but I need your say-so now, before I do any more."

"This evenin'? Wouldn't it be – well, better to go tomorrow morning?" She was looking at him curiously, he could see that out of the corner of his eye, but he was studying a knot in Hidalgo's forelock, then carding the hair through his fingers to remove it.

"It's warm now. The stars, you know, night time. Stars. I want to – I want you to …" He stopped, helpless in the face of what he had been trying for three days to get up the nerve to say. He couldn't believe it could be this difficult. He'd done the difficult stuff, the proposal, the finding out when a preacher would be in those parts. And he was no novice, though he felt like one as he tried to say the words. But the waiting. He found he was not able to do the waiting any more.

He felt her come stand close to him. "I'll think on it, Frank, if it's all right with you. We have another three months, if we stay here and just wait. It's a long time. And we said the words in front of the family. I feel like time's wasting, same as you. But I'll think on it."

He nodded. She would come up with the right answer, and whatever she said he would live with, as best he could. She might say yes. He hoped she'd say yes.

At five that evening, having finished all his chores, he was waiting with Hidalgo and Edie. She had given him her saddlebags about an hour before, and hadn't had to say yes after all. He had put his own saddlebags on Hidalgo, plus something wrapped in an oilskin that he was keeping quiet about.

She came out of the house, hugged Mrs. Watson and then stood, smiling shyly at him. She was dressed in clothes he'd not seen before, deep blue riding skirt, white blouse, and a short, tan leather jacket.

"Darlin', you look like a spring sky," he said, tipping back his hat.

She might, before that evening, have teased him for the compliment. But she ran down into his arms and hugged him tight. He picked her up, swung her round once, making her shout out with the speed and the fun of it, then up onto Edie's back. Edie stood there as calmly as if humans playing around her was entirely natural. She hardly even twitched her ears.

"Frank!" Lilian complained, trying to re-settle herself in the saddle.

"Ma'am?" he replied, coming to stand by her foot. "Get your foot in that stirrup real solid now. How many times I gotta tell you?"

She shoved her foot forward. "Stirrups are too short. You said I always had them too long and now they're too short."

He put his hand on her ankle. "Better put that right then, hadn't I."

Between the two of them teasing each other, and Hidalgo playing up because he seemed to know a good deal more about the situation than Frank thought he knew, it was a good ten minutes before they we ready. And then again, the delay might have been a reluctance on his part, or hers, to take the final step. They were going to be a family, and that would begin tonight. There would be no turning back from that, no walking out the next morning with a payment to finish the matter. He was prepared but still scared and when he kneed Hidalgo into a trot, he kept checking that she was with him, taking the steps with him, his companion in all his future life.

She was there. She was close and she was smiling, smiling at him now. They rode into the sunset, leaving all others behind them. The sky was a calm wash of yellows and blues, cloudless, and the horizon line was a sharp cut through the sun as it sank. The pasque flowers, flowers of the prairie and of Passiontide, bloomed all round them. They reached the new house just as the sun was consumed by the earth. It was very quiet and still.

Frank saw to the horses, giving Hidalgo and Edie his time, and letting Lil settle in. When he returned to her, she was standing in the doorway, leaning, her feet bare, her hair down, her jacket gone. Over his arm, he was carrying his gift to her and as he came closer, he shook it out and held it for her to see.

"I brought you this," he said quietly. "I wish I could say it was my mother's, but I don't have anythin' from her, 'cept my life. But my father married Ma this way." He took the blanket he was holding and put it round Lil's shoulders, drawing it round her. He knew what it meant. He knew she knew, too – that telling her about his mother, as he had already done, had been the right thing to do.

"Never thought," she said hesitantly, then cleared her throat. "Never thought to let another man take care of me this way. Maybe I thought no man would." She stood, held by the blanket, by him, as the light and colours faded away and the stars began to appear.

"I got the fire going, Frank, and there's food and a place to sit by the fire."

But he would not let her go, not for another few moments. "I thee wed, Lilian," he said.

"Me too," she replied and pulled a face. "That didn't come out quite right. Till death, Frank."

He nodded and let her go inside, where the fire was warm and the bed was soft.

In the deep blackness of the night, Frank woke. The dream he'd had for so many weeks had returned, leaving him shaken. This time, she was there. She didn't make everything better but she sure helped.

In the first light of morning, he woke to find her staring at him, her eyes full of tears. He reached to brush them away.

"You all right?" he asked, momentarily worried that he had hurt her somehow.

She nodded. "We don't have to go back just yet, do we?"

"Go back? No, they won't be expecting me back for a while yet. You can stay here, long as you like. This is your home now."

She looked up at the ceiling. "I'll have to throw out some spiders first."

"And put up them blue curtains."

"And cook you a fancy meal for when you come home again."

"Yes."

"Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"Can't do that. I'll have to come back to the house for some provisions."

"Oh. Didn't think of that. I can bring some things back tonight," he offered, sitting up and taking the warm covering of blankets with him.

She protested and he smiled, lying back down next to her. It was warm and safe, being together like that. He had not felt such utter contentment for longer than he could remember.

"No – no. I want to stay with you today, Frank. Tomorrow, I'll start being here. Today, we stay together."

"Whatever you want, honey. Now, you just settle down here and we'll wait till it's lighter, all right?"

She turned to him. "All right." She stretched. "Don't think I feel sleepy, though."

He grinned. "You don't?"

"Nope."

They didn't sleep any more.

It was full day before they were up and ready to face other people again. She was wearing her sky blue skirt and he helped her onto Edie's back. They would come back in a wagon.

He chased her back across the countryside, the horizon close, the buildings of Mr. Watson's spread approaching rapidly. She was whooping with joy and when Edie fell, her foot caught in a hole, she was silent very abruptly. One minute there, the next, lying on the ground face down, utterly silent and still. Her arm was stretched out, as if reaching for him. Edie was hobbling away, then was stilled by reins trailing on the ground. She stood, shivering with the pain and shock of her broken leg.

Frank jumped from Hidalgo's back and ran to Lilian. As he kneeled by her, and then heard men from the ranch come to stand silently, he could not grasp what had happened. He thought, if he wished hard enough, she would sit up and be with him again. If he could go back, if he could make her go slowly, if he could have remembered to tell her enough times to be careful, and sit her horse properly. The horse he had chosen for her.

He put the horse out of her misery himself. He supervised others while they took Lilian's body back to the ranch. He was not truly there, not while the doctor was called, nor while Mrs. Watson gave him coffee then sat with him. He was not there. He was lost.


	16. Ch 16

Disclaimer: The characters Frank and Hidalgo are not mine. I make no profit from this writing.

I'd just like to thank my reviewers very warmly – I am sorry to complete this story! I have enjoyed writing it and thank you very much for reading and leaving reviews.

Lost Chapter 16

He sat on the top step, Watson's ranch house shading him from the hot afternoon sun. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. He could not keep still. He watched the small crowd mount up, or get into buggies. He had said goodbye to all of them and now he waited, his mind attempting to catch rag-ends of ideas but not able to hold a thought for a moment before turning to the next.

He was nauseous with a fear that had twisted his gut all through the service and out into the little graveyard. He had given his small bunch of flowers to her coffin, then had thrown a handful of dry earth down onto the box. Dust to dust, the man had said.

Now he was anxious to be on his way, though the day was growing late and he would have to camp ridiculously soon. Yet he had not made the final decision to go for good. All he thought was away, he needed to be away.

Mrs.Watson stood with a small knot of friends who had been there for the wake. Now she glanced up at him, touched the shoulder of the woman she had been speaking to, then moved slowly in his direction.

"Do you want some company, Frank?" she inquired, stopping at the foot of the steps.

He nodded, unable to resist the longing to speak of Lilian to someone who knew her. She came up the steps to him, serious but not demanding any comfort from him, nor offering it.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" she said. "I don't think it's very dignified for someone of my age to be sitting here, do you?" She stood by him, waiting for him to join her.

He could barely move. He felt unsteady, rudderless, unready for the world now. His loss at Wounded Knee had been shaming, for he had carried the orders and his own people had died, and he could say nothing about it, for he could not even admit they were his own people.

Now he had lost a future life. Nothing called to him. There were no plans, no house, no child. He brushed a tear angrily from his cheek. He longed to blame someone and that blame came right back to his door.

He followed Mrs. Watson stiffly back to the kitchen. She put a cup of coffee in his hand. He knew she wanted to speak to him but he could not sit still and listen. He went to the window to look out at the world and saw how bright it was out there.

"Frank?"

He turned reluctantly back to the room. "I know, I know. I don't want to just leave, you know that. I come to – admire this place and – but, you see, she's here, and I don't know…"

"Whether you can leave?"

"Or stay. Right now, I don't know which is worse." He sat back down at the table and tried to drink the coffee. The heat in the room was oppressive and he still felt agitated beyond reason.

"Oh, Frank. You shouldn't go now, not today," the old woman said, coming to sit opposite him. She was tearful now and he couldn't look her in the eye. Lilian had been her friend. "Give it a month. Don't decide right now."

He looked ahead into that month and saw what his decision had to be. The anger that burned in him made the decision easier. If he stayed, he would hit the bottle and then he'd hurt someone. He – they all – would be better off out in the wilds again with just Hidalgo for company. Maybe, in time, head for the Wild West show. Become a shadow of himself.

In that moment, something was sealed over in this heart. He would not speak of her again, not to anyone. So he would have to leave, or be reminded every day of the one thing he had to keep locked away, silent, inside himself.

He coughed, his throat constricted and dry. "No, thank you kindly, ma'am. No. I've said my goodbyes. You've all been kinder to me than a man could easily …"

Mrs.Watson leaned over and placed her hand over his. "You've been welcome – you would be welcome – to stay." She wasn't pleading with him. "I remember when you first came, and how sick you were. And here you are now, arm all healed, and you have to leave us."

Now she was pushing at him too hard. He stood, resettled his hat on his head and steeled himself. "I packed my saddlebags. I don't know if she had kin, but I'd like my wage to go to someone else. I got cash money enough."

Mrs.Watson looked at him once more, then nodded. "All right, Frank. I trust your decisions. Maybe you could write to us once in a while, let us know where you get to." She stumbled towards silence. He held his feelings in check, tight, but shook her hand, holding it for a moment.

"I'll go and saddle up."

She took a bag from the table. "Here. Don't want you to starve."

He nodded, knowing there would be good food to eat for quite a few days to come. It was time for him to try eating again. Then he left her in the kitchen and walked down the corridor, back into the sunlight.

In the stable, Hidalgo was waiting. Each day since Lilian's death Frank had spent time grooming and caring for his horse, receiving neither pity not sympathy in return. Hidalgo knew nothing of his troubles but returned a steady companionship that held the worst of Frank's despair at bay for a while.

He saddled his horse and led him out into the fresh spring air, leaving a few short weeks of his life behind. He headed out, beyond civilisation, beyond people, until such time as he could bear to be with them again.

That night, as he sat by a fire that was a tiny pinpoint of light in a vast landscape, he let himself mourn, after the manner of his own people. His song faltered and rose, and faltered again until it caught him, gathering into itself all his anger and sadness.

Hidalgo, standing back into the wind, didn't go far from him all night.

The End


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